


The Sides That Bind

by TheSurprisedSlytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Death Eaters, Department of Mysteries, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Healers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Zabini - Freeform, Zabini Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 171,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSurprisedSlytherin/pseuds/TheSurprisedSlytherin
Summary: As far as Heidi Zabini's concerned, Draco Malfoy is everything wrong with the Pureblooded elite that her surname pushed her into. But the summer has been about as kind to Malfoy as he's been to her, and the school year seems no better. Little by little, Heidi can't help but try to keep him afloat. However, there's that minor matter of reversing 16 years of damage between them...





	1. The Ghost of the Growing Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first time using AO3 for a fanfic, so I hope you bear with me. I found this story buried on a USB drive from when I was 12, and instead of letting it rest in peace like a normal person should, I decided to do a massive overhaul. Idle hands and whatnot. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

It had been a perfectly smooth August day in the Zabini household, which, now that I think about it, should have served as an indication that my life was about to go exceptionally sour. As I sat, polishing my broomstick in my unnecessarily large bedroom, a list was thrust under my nose.

"Heidi, darling, I need your advice."

My mother never used that phrase to preface a situation that actually warranted advice, and this time was no different.

"What do you think would feed a growing boy best? I'm between lobster and Kobe steaks. I got the house elf to write both on here, but I'm not sure if one is better."

I blinked.

"Growing boy? I don't understand, Mum. Who’s the 'growing boy' in this scenario?” I put my broomstick down hurriedly, recognizing a cause for alarm when I heard one. “Did you go and make friends with some family I'll hate again?” I had in mind a certain clan of blonds that I could have stood to un-meet. "Just make something _normal_ for dinner, can't you? Make soup. Soup’s a classic."

"Soup is an appetizer," my mother snapped. I had clearly threatened her perception of justice in the world of dinner parties.

"Not if you use the big bowls," I pointed out smartly.

She sighed and retracted the list.

"No one in this house is of any use - I may as well ask my own reflection. Blaise, for one, told me to serve hamburgers."

"What can I say, Mother? At least it's an entrée," I remarked as I went back to polishing my Cleansweep Seven. I could practically feel her purse her lips behind me, but before I could turn to look, she had stormed out of my room with high heels clacking. I sighed and put the broom aside. The last thing I needed before my friends came over was an angry Estella Zabini.

I opened my bedroom door to go after her, and came to face a ghost emerging from the hallway fireplace. Frozen on the spot, I watched the pallid figure - too tall for the head to be visible - make its way out of the Floo system. A closer look put a stopper to my fear. Draco Malfoy stood with his back to me, brushing himself free of what I assumed was soot. Mistaking him for a ghost hadn't been that far off – he looked like he'd lost about ten kilograms and half a personality.

Without even a look in my direction, he disappeared into my brother's room. It wasn't until I saw our house elf Roley struggle along with his trunk that I realized what was going on. My stomach plummeted. He was here to stay.

I burst into Blaise's room without hesitation, wincing as my foot flew into his heavy, painted armoire.

_Note to self: hesitation is good sometimes._

The two looked up from their conversation, where I was sure they had been mulling over something morally reprehensible as usual. I pointed to the offending party.

"He can't be here!"

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest, Heidi."

My frustration escalated.

"Did I stutter? _I said he can't be here!_ "

"You're being an id-"

"No, Blaise, why don't you let her talk." Malfoy turned his full attention to me, looking extra vicious. I was one of the lucky few females at Hogwarts that he'd ever shown his natural range of facial expressions to: smirking, sneering, and scowling (Merlin only knows what he showed the other girls, but I'm guessing it wasn't his face). "Go on, Pointless Zabini. Tell me why I can't be here. I'll pretend to give something close to a damn, but no guarantees."

"You can't be here because my friends are coming tomorrow, _Ferret_ ," I said through gritted teeth.

He leaned in menacingly, and I was ashamed to say that his newfound gauntness was scaring me.

"Well then you better cancel your little club meeting unless you want Potty to become the Boy Who Died."

My nostrils flared. In an effort to keep all of my screaming internal, I turned on my heel and left.

Our home, unlike Malfoy's, was modern and bright. I usually prided myself on the fact that visitors didn't need a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Exorcisms every time they set foot inside; the same definitely couldn't be said of Malfoy Manor. But for some reason, the blinding white floors and skylights irritated me that day as they channeled warmth and light on my surroundings. I felt they were making a mockery of the truth.

"Heidi, dear, has Draco come? I heard a commotion." My mother had appeared in the doorway of a bedroom nearby. I stormed towards her.

"You told me I could finally have Harry, Ron and Hermione over. Then you go and invite _him!_ Is this some kind of joke, Mother? Because I don't appreciate it – not even a little!"

Her brown eyes snapped sharply to mine.

"You mind that tone! If Draco is here, it is because he needs to be. You do not get to question the guests I have in my house. You can owl those friends of yours and tell them you will have them over next time."

I crossed my arms and tried not to cry from the frustration – a frustration that had already begun building at the sight of Malfoy's face.

"You're only doing this because you hate my friends, aren't you?"

Her face softened. She brushed a strand of brown hair from my cheek.

"You know that's only half-true," she said with a smile. "Though, now that we're on the topic, I would _really_ rather you stay away from those Gryffindors this year. Especially after the fiasco at the Ministry. Your father's friends are still giving him trouble for that, you know."

I pushed her hand away, unready to make nice.

"It's his own fault for making friends with creeps like Ortwin Nott and Lucius Malfoy."

"If it weren't for those 'creeps' doing business with him, you'd be living in a broom cupboard instead of this house," she reminded me sternly. She gave a pleading sigh. "I know you and Lucius' boy have issues getting along, and that's fine. But I have to ask you to watch your tongue with Draco for the length of his stay."

I crossed my arms, affronted.

"It isn't _my_ tongue that throws the word ‘mudblood’ around as if it's a normal thing for someone with a soul to say!"

My mother opened her mouth to talk, then gave up and walked away, leaving me standing in the guest room. I sighed and fell into a white leather armchair. The linens had been changed, the bookcase had been filled, and the room was made to smell faintly of orange blossom. Only one thing made it un-livable, and he had snuck up right behind me.

"Get out."

I squeaked and brought a hand over my pounding heart.

"Would it kill you not to snarl from behind me?" I looked Malfoy up and down. Bitter realization hit. “ _You're_ the growing boy that my mother was talking about! The one we're having over for dinner!"

He ignored me and hung his grey travelling cloak on a hook by the dresser. It was then that I noticed a strange absence of Narcissa, who was always insisting that he wear the 'warmer green one' even in summer, each time leaving me puzzled about how someone could coo so obsessively over Draco Malfoy.

"Go mope about missing your mudblood friends in your own room," he drawled.

I ignored his request.

"Where's your mum?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed viciously, and before I could take a breath in, I found myself the victim of a Hurtling Jinx that sent me out the door and across the hallway.

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"Wine, dear?"

"Wouldn't kill me," I said darkly, fingers clenched around a fork with a carved, pointed handle that had played many a part in my revenge fantasies.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Heidi," tutted my mother. In my peripheral vision, I saw her shake her head and pour Chardonnay into my father's glass. Peripheral vision was all I could give her. My eyes were glued to Malfoy, who my brother was trying to appease through some stupid lie about a Hufflepuff he beat in a duel. Couldn't he tell that the ferret wasn't even bothering to listen?

Twins though Blaise and I were, I considered us the anti-Fred and George. We were in opposing Hogwarts houses, on opposing Quidditch teams, with opposing priorities and opposing (or in his case oppositional) friends. Though it had never been quite so bad until the Prince of Bullshit got himself involved.

Draco Malfoy had, in a nutshell, voted me out of the rich kid repertoire at the tender age of eleven and my brother hadn't offered a peep of an argument. Now, at sixteen, I was frequently found clutching steak knives at fancy dinners and trying desperately to use them only on the steak.

"So have you had a chance to get your books, Draco?" asked my mother with a tense smile.

"Yes, Mrs. Zabini."

"Wonderful. Though if you need anything else, we would gladly accompany you since your mother cannot."

I frowned. I didn't think the day would come that Narcissa Malfoy didn't take her son to Diagon Alley before school and threaten to buy him anything they laid eyes on.

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine, Heidi, eat your dinner," said my father impatiently.

"That's convincing," I murmured as I reached for a second steak. Malfoy watched me with badly masked judgement. "I'm not going to eat all of it!" I snapped.

He shrugged at me, as if he hadn't noticed a thing.

"I'm not surprised Potter has you on some sort of regimen, since your Quidditch team has to rely on brawn now instead of tactic."

I snorted, piling some peas, potatoes and chocolates on my plate amid my mother's protests.

"And what does Slytherin rely on when they fly? Because I saw your captain, Malfoy, and he looks even thicker than you-"

"Heidi!" squeaked my mother. I could officially be considered a disruption in decorum. "I'm sorry, Draco, she's a bit excitable these days after she got her exam results back. She's not sure if she'll get into N.E.W.T. level Herbology next year, you see."

"MUM! Don't tell people I failed Herbology!"

"Well she got Os on everything else!" she said quickly.

Malfoy looked ready to file this away into the 'Crap I Don't Care About' part of his brain, which, if I had to take a guess, constituted about 99%.

"I hear you did wonderfully last year too, Draco," my mother went on.

Malfoy shrugged and took a sip of wine, leaving me to wonder how that kid got his hands on wine in the first place. "I did alright."

"Lucius must be proud," said my father. I bit my tongue and unwrapped a chocolate. My opinion on Lucius Malfoy – especially after our run-in at the Department of Mysteries – was... disagreeable. At least to this crowd.

For the first time in a long one, Malfoy looked embarrassed.

"Yeah. I guess he is."

"I wrote to him in Azkaban just last week, actually. He said the food there is more ghastly than the Dementors themselves. But he's a slippery chap, your father. He'll be out in no time."

The expression on Malfoy's face put a drop of sympathy in my blood.

"Dad, subject change. Now."

My father looked at me as if I'd pulled him out of a daze.

"Did I say something wrong?"

I shook my head at him and went back to my peas and chocolates, somewhat aware that Malfoy was staring at me with ill-hidden loathing.

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"MALFOY! I COULD HAVE BEEN IN THE BATH!" I bellowed as he strode into the bathroom. It was accessible through two doors – one in my room and one in the guest bedroom. This was a welcome arrangement when my cousin Ceana came to visit, since we could sneak into each other's rooms to cause trouble undetected. It was less welcome when I had Malfoy bursting in on me as toothpaste foam dripped down my chin.

"Funny, I never pegged you as someone who bathes."

He reached around me (into my drawer, might I add) and produced a bottle of cologne. I hated that thing. Maybe it was a Pavlovian effect – every time I smelled amber and spice, I was sure to experience something that made me feel like garbage. Today was no exception.

"Feeling sympathetic again, Zabini?" he muttered as he straightened his dark green tie.

"What?"

"You know, about my sad, imprisoned father and my alcoholic mother," said Malfoy scathingly.

I stared at him in the mirror as everything came into place.

"I – I didn't know. Not about your mother."

I turned until we were facing each other. He looked down at me cautiously. I was too shocked by the news to initially realize just how closely we were standing.

"I'm so sorry," I said with a tremor in my voice. "Where is she right now? Is she alright?"

"St. Mungo's," he grumbled.

"Was there some sort of accid-"

"What the hell do you care?" Malfoy snarled. I jumped back. "You and your Gryffindor losers are the reason any of this is happening. Now you get to act the heroes and pretend like you give a shit. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, right? I'm sure you feel so very sorry."

I stiffened. For some reason, him spitting on the small truce I tried to offer had hurt me more than usual.

“About your father? I don't feel sorry at all. Let's face it, he's where he belongs."

For a second, I thought he was going for his wand. Instead he bent down until he was practically staring through me.

"Good. Don't feel sorry. Because the mighty will be out soon, and when they are, I'll be sure to pass your name along."

"What for?" I said, trying - and likely failing - to sound as cold as him. "I didn't put them in Azkaban. Their own stupidity did."

His eyes glinted savagely. I crossed my arms, attempting to look unfazed as all six feet of him towered over me with an eight inch advantage.

"You gonna hit me?" I was never comfortable with his long, pointed pauses or his vindictive expressions. Whatever he was planning, I wanted him to get it over with. To my surprise, he straightened up and turned to leave. I softened a little. "Hey … Malfoy …"

"What?" he snapped.

"Your mother … I didn't know about her … problem. I really am sorry."

He laughed insultingly.

"Well as long as you're 'sorry'."

Looking more put out than ever, he left.


	2. FWOT

I didn't see Malfoy for the rest of the day, not even when it was time to leave for the Hogwarts Express. He had apparently gathered his things and left for King's Cross on his own, having rejected my parents' offer to bring him along with us.

"Hey, Heidi!"

I looked up from my novel to see Harry smiling at me in the compartment doorway.

"Harry! Where are Ron and Hermione?" I asked, eagerly making a place for him. Not that I had to try much – Blaise had abandoned me the minute we boarded the train as usual, and I was sitting in the compartment alone.

Harry shrugged.

"They'll be around. They're probably enforcing rules somewhere or other. Well, Hermione is; Ron'll be trying to snog her."

"And Ginny?" I asked, wondering why he was without his girlfriend.

"I think she's with Luna."

A comfortable quiet came over us as the countryside rolled by, and I returned to my novel.

"Sucks that we couldn't come over," said Harry, who was always thankful for a reason to leave his aunt and uncle, and their equally doltish offspring.

I put my book down in a huff. I'd completely forgotten about the letters I had to send to my friends because of Malfoy's visit.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Harry, I had no idea he was coming. He just shows up, as if he lives there or something!"

"Well your family likes the Malfoys, don't they?"

If I had to name the single most unnecessary thing my family ever did, it would be that. I looked down, feeling awkward.

"It doesn't mean anything about _you_ ," said Harry quickly. "I mean, you don't get to pick your family life. If you could, I don't reckon I'd have spent my summers with the Dursleys."

"Guess not, huh?" I said with a sad smile.

"It's like Hermione said, about you being sort of like ..." His resolve waivered a little.

"Like Sirius," I finished, remembering very well the conversation we'd had two years prior, after Malfoy and my brother called my friends something abhorrent, and I was so upset about it that I couldn't even punch them through the tears.

"Yeah."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But that doesn't make seeing Malfoy over holidays any easier. Though I only did see him for like four days this entire summer."

"I doubt you'll be seeing him much for the train ride, either," said Ron as he appeared in the compartment. Hermione was at his side, looking frizzier than usual with the buttons on her blouse misaligned. I gave her a knowing smile before Ron's words sank in.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, he's just sitting around in his compartment, sulking."

"Alone?" I asked. This had never been the way he spent his journeys on the Express; he was a fan of popping by fairly steadily to try out new ways of being a git.

"No, Parkinson's with him," said Ron. "But he's completely ignoring her, which is hilarious because we had to dock them about a hundred points last year for being three steps away from fuc-"

" _Ron!_ " gasped Hermione. "Don't call it that!"

Ron shrugged and sat down.

"He'll come to give us a hard time soon, regardless," I predicted. "And within the hour, I bet. I know him. He lives for this crap."

But by the time the train had hit Scotland, it became clear that I didn't know him at all.

"Oh look!" said Hermione happily as she held up a copy of the Daily Prophet that she found under the seat. "A few Death Eaters are due to get the Kiss this year. It looks like Malfoy's father is one of them."

"Maybe that's what's got his knickers in a twist," commented Ron.

Harry leaned in and squinted at the front page.

"That paper's three days old, Hermione."

I furrowed my eyebrows, feeling like this held some sort of significance that I couldn't quite put together. And then I did.

"That's why he came."

"What?" asked Harry, turning to me.

"That's why he came to our house all of a sudden. He must have read the news about his dad."

A small booklet fell out of the newspaper and into Hermione's lap.

"No, Heidi, I don't think that's fully the reason. Look."

She held up the booklet, which looked like a cheap tabloid magazine.

"The Fall of House Malfoy," I read out. "Follow along on my journey to discover the whos and whats that have dirtied the name of the oldest and purest."

The Malfoy family crest was in the center, but their motto – Sanctimonia Vincet Semper – had been replaced with 'Get the Dirt'. In the lower corner was a picture of a nasty face behind jewel-encrusted glasses: Rita Skeeter, our favourite journalist.

I took the booklet from Hermione's hands and turned to the first page.

_Narcissa Malfoy: Slave to the Bottle?_

_Narcissa Malfoy, wife to the infamous Death Eater, Lucius, was taken away to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on Thursday, August 28_ _th_ _. She had apparently overindulged in wine of her own family's apothecary to such an extent that her own son – Draco Malfoy, age 16 - had found her minutes from the beyond, in a pool of her own sick. Even when her frail frame was dragged to the front desk of St. Mungo's, Narcissa denied having a problem. But her barely lucid statements, along with her son's quiet insistence that she be admitted to the newly established rehabilitation program, cemented her detainment in the Wizarding hospital._

 _"_ _This is fairly typical of a closeted alcoholic," says one esteemed Healer, who shall remain nameless. "Then again, if I were in the tizzy the Malfoys are in, I'd have drank twice what she had."_

_The manor in which the incident took place is due to be searched within the-_

Indignation surged through me as I threw the magazine on the floor. "That's horrible! That Healer is _horrible!_ How could you say such things, let alone publish them? Of course _Skeeter_ wrote this drivel. What a pathetic, dried up woman with a pathetic, dried up career."

Ron snorted at my sympathy.

"Taste of Malfoy's own medicine, as far as I'm concerned. Remember Fourth Year when he told Skeeter all that crap about us and got it published?"

"Hard to forget," said Harry coldly.

Admittedly, it was.

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"Feast looks brilliant this year!" exclaimed Ron as he made piles on his plate of everything he could get his hands on. I happily joined him, until a kick from Hermione sent us both yelping. "Mione, what'd you do that for?" Ron wailed.

She pointed to the staff table, where Dumbledore had stood up. His damask-patterned robes were glimmering particularly brightly this year. He brought a wand to his throat to act as an amplifier, and in doing so, exposed a mummified hand. Hastily, the headmaster adjusted his sleeve.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome back! I would normally withhold my announcements until you've had your bellies sufficiently filled, but I've an extraordinary amount to say in an extraordinarily small amount of time. If you wish to nibble as I speak, I assure you no offense will be taken."

It was enough of an invitation for Ron, but I refrained. This seemed important.

"The world both here and outside these walls is changing with each second that goes by. We have come marvelously far, and yet have regressed profoundly all at once. With the world, this school must change, and we within it must grow. Two things are always asked from us in troubling times like these. The first is love, as we all know. And the second? Skill, my children. Pure skill. That is why for the first time in a very long one, the Ministry has decided to narrow our focus, shrink our classrooms, and bring together friends and rivals both."

At this most troubling thought, I spared a glance at Malfoy. He was looking at Dumbledore with skeptical disgust – and I at him.

"I ask our Sixth and Seventh Years to step on the journey to unity, and become role models to those malleable young minds that look up to them. A meeting on the subject will be held later tonight, once everyone has had a chance to get cozy in their common rooms." His blue eyes swept over our table. "My deepest regrets to our Gryffindor students. Your common room, due to an unforeseen Permanent Flame Charm, has been relocated to the dungeons. But never fear; I am sure our Slytherin house will be more than happy to help you make the best of your new home."

Ron choked on a turkey leg and I felt pretty glad that I'd avoided the same fate by ceasing to eat when I did.

"Now you must all tuck in and eat away."

Dumbledore smiled and stepped down.

"Eat what away?" groaned Ron after Harry gave him a hard thump on the back. "Our misery?" He pointed his stripped-down turkey leg at the Headmaster's chair, which now stood empty; Dumbledore had left the Hall. "He's really bending it with the inter-house unity rubbish this year."

"He wouldn't have to if you didn't throw things at Malfoy every chance you got," reprimanded Hermione.

I had taken to making patterns in my mashed potatoes, and grew increasingly distracted by it.

"Me? I only did it seven times last year!" protested Ron.

"No, not you for once, Ron. I meant Heidi."

I looked up at the sound of my name and pouted. "Me? I only did it sixty-eight times last year!"

Hermione sighed.

"Well, however many times you did it, we'll be seeing a lot more of him in dark hallways now. Him and his whole gang."

"Great," muttered Harry darkly. "Even more chances for Malfoy to try and do us in. And what about that meeting Dumbledore called for us? Have you two heard anything about it?" he asked the two Prefects.

"FWOT," Hermione responded.

Harry and I exchanged glances.

"Er … 'wot'?" I verified.

She tisked at our ignorance.

"No, not 'wot'. F.W.O.T!"

"Hermione, SPEW was bad enough, alright? No more House-Elf rights gibberish. Or any other creature, for that matter," Ron said. His eyes widened as a thought seemed to pass through him. "The … the T doesn't stand for 'Troll', does it?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No, Ronald, it does not. If you don't yet know, it's the acronym for Future Wizarding Occupations Training, and you'd do well to participate. If you still want to be an Auror, that is." Her gaze switched to me and became much less exacting. "They're doing a Healer program too, Heidi. I'm sure you'd be interested in that one."

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Hermione had been right, I noted, once I saw the list of potential careers posted in the Great Hall a few hours later. We had already been to the new common room, which in spite of a rather damp air quality had been set up to exactly replicate our old tower. But all four of us had gotten lost on the way out, and despite running into at least six Slytherins, none of us could bring ourselves to ask for directions. Our tardiness had ensured that the only seats we could find in the sea of wooden chairs were scattered among the crowd. I ended up a row behind a familiar albino-esque head.

"You're sure, Draco? That's really the program you're choosing?" one of his girlfriends asked. I wasn't sure which one, until she turned sideways to display the outline of a bronzed and radiant pug face. Pansy.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said in annoyance. I was surprised to see him nudge away the hand she placed on his leg.

"But it's such a soft program! Why don't you do something for the Ministry? Like become Minister for Magic?" she suggested, determinedly returning her hand to what she seemed convinced was its rightful place.

So engrossed was I in picturing Draco Malfoy's reign as Minister for Magic that I almost missed Pansy mutter 'Healers don't even do anything'. I felt like someone had doused me with ice water.

"You want to be a Healer?" I blurted.

The couple turned around and were generous enough to bestow upon me a dirty look each.

"Run along and let the important people talk, Zabini," sneered Malfoy, but the only thing I heard was him failing to disprove my worst nightmare.

"But - but you can't be a Healer! Healers help people, Malfoy! That's literally what they're there for! I don't even think they'd let you in, if I'm gonna be honest."

He rolled his eyes.

"Good thing nobody consulted with you, then."

I distinctly heard him mutter something rather child-unfriendly as he turned back to face the front.

 _No. No,_ _thank you_ _._

"Thank you all for joining me this evening," began Professor McGonagall. "I'm sure you all have questions but I'll ask that you refrain from posing them until Professor Snape and I have finished explaining."

I saw Harry's hand shoot up from the other side of the Hall. Snape gave him an incisive sneer.

"Are you deaf, Potter, or just incredibly self-absorbed?"

Pansy burst into laughter and I kicked her chair, making it scoot a few inches.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"Busy, Potter," answered Professor McGonagall firmly. She held a long roll of parchment. "Now, this new curriculum has been in development for over a year, so we would like to think that the kinks have all been ironed out. However, as it's the first year of implementation, the Ministry thinks it is best to keep you in groups of two or three. This is not an invitation to freeload. The work will be hard, but rewarding. There will even be a few times throughout the year that you will be able to get first-hand experience within the field that you aspire to. If done correctly, you should all walk out with mentors and a foot in the door. Now, your options are as follows: Auror, Healer, Wandmaker, Potioneer…"

I tuned out at this and took the opportunity to kick Malfoy's chair to get his attention. Disappointingly, he didn't scoot as far as Pansy.

He whipped around, nostrils flaring. I ignored him and went straight into my monologue.

"Gosh, there are so many options, aren't there?" I mused, trying to sound tempting. "I don't even know what to choose. But I do know one thing: I wouldn't choose Healing. No I would not. So many…" I struggled to find something to dislike about the profession I worshipped since I was eight. "Smells?"

"Can't be more than you're emitting," jeered Pansy.

I looked at her in mock-wonder. "Good one, Pans." My eyes snapped back to Malfoy. "You know, she's a smart cookie, that girlfriend of yours. I especially like the whole Minister for Magic idea. See, when I close my eyes and imagine a better future for the coming generation – you know, as I like to do – I think to myself, who better to run the show than Draco Malfoy? I mean he's tall and … and a wizard. So the whole 'Magic' part of the title is covered, really." I cringed, feeling like my pep talk was starting to lack some. "Plus he's a hypocrite sometimes. So that's … you know … good. A nice, healthy dose of hypocrisy is actually recommended in politics..."

Malfoy narrowed his silver eyes.

"The next time you kick my chair, Zabini, I will _waste_ you."

I dropped my hopeful smile and shrank back into my chair, just in time to hear McGonagall announce that it was time for questions.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I was just wondering, Professor, on what basis our partners will be chosen?"

McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Wonderful question, Miss Granger."

"Oh yes, Miss Mudblood, _wonderful_ question," mocked Pansy, setting off an intense inner-struggle that resulted in me kicking another chair full force. I incurred the wrath of the Slytherin duo for the third time.

"In my defense, Malfoy, you only said your chair," I pointed out, before putting on my best Malfoy voice. "'The next time you kick _my_ chair, Zabini'-"

"Problem, Heidi? Or may I answer Hermione's question?" asked Professor McGonagall pointedly.

I shook my head. "No problem, Professor."

"Very well. The partners you receive will be assigned on the basis of intellectual and personal compatibility. Sometimes, one factor will trump the other. That is to be expected. However, in the unlikely event that you cannot work with your assigned partner, please go to your Head of House in order to rectify this." She rolled up her parchment, which was trailing at the hem of her robes. "I will now ask all of you to make your way to the signup sheets for your desired program. You will get your schedules and the name of your partner at breakfast tomorrow."

I wrestled my way through the row of chairs, determined to sign up before Malfoy. But upon my arrival at the signup wall, a name was already four lines above mine in neat, precise handwriting: Draco L. Malfoy.

"Bastard," I whispered.

I had no choice but to accept his presence not only in my holidays, but in all of my classes. Seeing 'Pansy Parkinson' scrawled on the same sheet made that acceptance seem like an impossible feat.


	3. A Little Family Trauma

I spent all of breakfast trembling with dread. What if I got paired with Malfoy? What if I got paired with _Parkinson?_

"Oh, Heidi, relax," said Hermione as I gulped down a chalice of pumpkin juice. "I know what you're thinking, but it's highly unlikely isn't it? You'll probably get paired with your brother, if it's a Slytherin at all."

"Well," said Ron as he looked at the onslaught of owls that had finally burst into the Great Hall, "she'll find out soon, won't she?"

A great tawny owl found me and dropped an envelope in my lap. I cringed and tried to open it while the bird wasn't looking – a difficult feat, seeing as it was staring right at me. After certain unneeded encounters over the years, I had developed what could only be called animal trust issues.

Harry looked at me in confusion and offered the expectant bird some pellets.

"They're not all like Malfoy's owl, you know."

Instinctively, I brought a hand to the bridge of my nose, where I had a tiny scar from Vampyre's beak.

"Go on, open your letter," he said, ripping into his own. His face lit up at what he saw. "Brilliant! Ron's with me!"

Ron grinned and high-fived him across the table. "We haven't got Potions until Wednesday, either. That's double brilliant if you ask me."

"What about you, Hermione?" I asked, partially hoping to stall. I knew she had signed up for the Ministry's Magical Law department, but that was all I knew of it.

"I've got Ernie MacMillan," she said brightly. "It says here that we'll be taking History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration, and Magical Theory. Oh, and Muggle Studies. Wonderful! No Snape at all."

Ron didn't seem too happy about that, though I suspect it had more to do with Ernie than with a lack of Potions.

"How can a witch not study Potions?" he complained. "Sounds bloody ridiculous to me."

"Excuse me, Ronald, but I study Potions every day. I didn't need Snape looming over me to brew Polyjuice Potion in second year, and I certainly don't need him now."

This shut Ron up long enough for everyone's attention to turn towards me. I sighed and peeled open my envelope.

I looked down at the name on the parchment and, after a moment of bemusement, laughed at my own stupidity.

"Susan Bones," I said, holding the paper up as evidence.

"Told you, didn't we?" said Harry. "They're not running some sort of human experiment. For once."

"What classes are you in?" asked Hermione.

"Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration and … oh no …"

"Herbology?" she guessed. I nodded wordlessly. "I hear Susan's alright at it. And I'll help you after hours. You'll be fine," she assured me.

Funny how whenever someone said that, things turned out to be just the opposite.

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"I see I get the honour of teaching your first class."

Severus Snape's black eyes swept over everyone in the room. He was appraising us, as always, to see if there was anybody up to scratch. Every year he disappointed himself. But as he looked at me and Susan, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, and everybody else that had cooperated with Harry Potter in any way, he looked especially disappointed. There were only three people who had a chance to negate this: one was my brother, one was sleeping with his eyes open, and one was reapplying lipstick for the sixth time.

"Pity, pity. Precious knowledge really is wasted on the brainless." I wasn't surprised that he seemed to direct his comment to the competent side of the room. He turned with a dramatic swooshing of his robes and conjured words onto the blackboard. "I will waste no time holding your hands through this potion. It is elementary knowledge, acquired in your fourth year. If you cannot brew this then we have ourselves a little issue … don't we?" He smiled unpleasantly, and I saw his gaze fix on my partner. It was then that I realized how little I knew of her capabilities.

Susan Bones was a sweet Hufflepuff who despised Umbridge and adored the Boy Who Lived. And that was all I knew. But as I watched her fumble with Wormwood, scorch our cauldron, and drop in beetle wings before frog legs in direct reversal of Snape's instructions, I realized that Susan Bones was a rubbish Potioneer. And by the end of the day, I had realized that Susan Bones was a rubbish Transfigurator and Defense Against the Dark Arts practitioner, too. I looked around each class we went to, trying to assess if I was the only one having such an awful time. Only one group had come close.

"Draco, this class is just dumb!" whined Parkinson. "I mean, why would we need to learn to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts? We _are_ the Dark Arts. C'mon, let's ditch before the professor sees."

"For the last damn time, Pansy-"

"What, you don't like me anymore?" purred Pansy. But there was a malicious undertone to her sugary purr. I couldn't help but turn to eavesdrop on their conversation. "You didn't like me very much last night, either. I mean you certainly _tried_ , but you couldn't quite get there, could you?"

Malfoy blushed a furious red just as I had caught on to the meaning behind his girlfriend's words. I couldn't look away fast enough to go unnoticed.

"I'm surprised they let _you_ into the program, Zabini, seeing as your magic's so bloody sub-par. If I didn't know any better, I'd have pegged you as a mud-"

"Malfoy," Blaise warned.

I looked at him with surprise. My brother stood up for me maybe two times out of ten. I sensed it wasn't so much Malfoy's intent to hurt me (Blaise certainly turned a blind eye to that many times), but his suggestion that our family name was impure. Still, I'd take what I could get.

A woman with bright turquoise hair went past us, catching my attention. I never managed a glimpse of her face, but as she gave a telltale stumble on her way to the door, I realized who she was.

"Tonks!" I exclaimed.

She turned to me as she unlocked the second-floor classroom. "Wotcher, Heidi!"

"You're teaching this year?" I asked.

Malfoy gave a disgusted groan. "They might as well hire an ape to teach and get it over with," he whispered harshly to Blaise, who gave a subtle nod of agreement.

"What's wrong, sweet cousin of mine? Not happy to see me?" She gave herself a ferret's snout and reveled – just as I did - in his satisfying jump backwards. He said nothing more and stalked into the open classroom, going straight for the back.

As the lesson rolled to an end and Susan sent me to the floor for the fifth time through an accidental hex, I felt like my future was truly doomed. Or at least my career prospects were. I contemplated marrying rich for a split-second, but one look at Malfoy, who was jeering at me along with my brother and Pansy, put that idea to bed.

"Heidi, can I talk to you for a sec?" said Tonks.

"Sure," I said as I rubbed my smarting tailbone. The class had begun to leave, with Malfoy at their hilt. I scrambled up.

"I liked you better on the floor, blood traitor," he muttered maliciously on his way out.

I shot his back a dirty look, then went to Tonks. I knew my magic had been feeble that day, but I was still hoping I'd get used to Susan before any real trouble came of it.

Tonks smiled encouragingly, but then looked bothered.

"You need a new partner, Heidi, don't you think?"

I shrugged. I didn't want to put the blame on Susan.

"You don't have to say yes. But I know your magic, and that wasn't it."

"It's just first day jitters," I reasoned. "Besides, other people were having trouble today, too. I mean look at Malfoy and Parkinson; they've been stepping on each other's toes all day. Or Blaise and Padma Patil … what?"

Tonks had suddenly put on a ruminating expression that filled me with discomfort.

"Malfoy, you say?" She sucked air in through her teeth as she contemplated him. She was as fuzzy-feely about him as I was, after his mother had shunned her own from the family for marrying a Muggle-Born. "That kid looks ill compared to when I last saw him."

"When did you last see him?" I asked.

"I caught a glimpse when he visited Azkaban the week after his dad's arrest. He isn't usually this pale, is he?"

"No," I said confidently. Over the years, I had seen Malfoy's full range of skin tones: Angry Pink, Ugly Wedding Dress White, and 'I-Wear-Suits-To-The-Beach' albino-tan. But grey had never been one of his undertones. "I think he's ill, actually. And I think it's made him even more of a git," I said, thinking of how needlessly hostile he's been.

Tonks' mouth curved down in concern. "You think so?"

I pulled a chair up to her desk and made myself comfortable. I forgot she was a professor now, and no longer a theory receptacle. The mistake would cost me - but I didn't know that then.

"I know so. I don't think he's been taking anything well, especially after Narcissa … well … I assume you read about it in Skeeter's weekly column."

Tonks snorted.

"Like I'd read that rubbish. My mother told me my aunt's been unwell for a while. I didn't realize the kid was too."

I sighed and shook my head. "He's an idiot. An ego-driven idiot. I just hope someone intervenes before he gets completely out of hand. I doubt it though; not everyone's had the blessing of having years of training in dealing with the jerk."

"What about that girl of his?"

I chortled.

"Pansy? As if she can help. The pug can't look at anyone more intently than she looks at her own reflection. Not that I care. Besides, I don't even think they're that close anymore. Again, not that I care."

"I'll have to keep an eye on him. Can't have him suffer too much, even if he is a no-gooder. Not that I'm allowed to say that about a student…" She winked. "As for you, I'm bringing it up to the headmaster whether you like it or not. You're not going to ruin your chances at Healing because you got the wrong partner."

"I just don't want Susan to-"

She gave me an understanding smile. "I know. I'll be gentle when I bring it up to Professor Dumbledore. I'm a Hufflepuff, you know. I'm remarkably bad at crushing people's dreams. Now run along before people start to think I'm playing favourites."

I snorted and stood up.

"Oh, and Heidi?"

"Yeah?"

She put on a white ferret's snout once more.

"A memory for your long trek to the dungeons, yeah?" she said with another wink.

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Not long after, I got an owl from Dumbledore urgently beckoning me to his office. I knew it had been penned by the headmaster himself both by the handwriting and the fact that it revealed absolutely none of his reasons for calling me up.

"Did you do something bad in class?" suggested Ron.

"No," I said, as I cupped my cheek and read the note once more. I had originally thought it was about switching partners, but after at least three Gryffindors got switched around with barely a word from McGonagall, I realized such a minor matter wouldn't warrant a nine p.m. meeting with Albus Dumbledore.

"Did you do something bad to Malfoy?" asked Ginny.

I wheezed a frustrated breath.

"No! Why does everybody always think I'm doing bad things to Malfoy?"

"Because he's the type to do something first, get a reaction, and run off to whine to a teacher," said Ginny matter-of-factly.

"Well if that's still how he gets his kicks given his circumstances, then he's losing brain cells." I shoved the letter in my pocket and pushed myself off the couch. "I hope I'm worrying for nothing."

"I'm sure you are," said Ron. "Dumbledore's been talking to a few people about switching them out of the program they picked, so maybe it's just that."

I could feel the blood escape my face. It suddenly made sense. I was getting kicked out of Healing. They already thought I was useless.

I left the common room quickly, so no one would see me tremble. I didn't get far in the dank, unlit corridor before a hand clasped around my elbow and dragged me behind the corner. Instinctively, I jabbed my free elbow into the attacker's chest. No avail.

"What did you tell them?" spat a whisper in my ear.

I breathed in relief as I realized it was only Malfoy. Though, on second look, running into the Bloody Baron would've creeped me out less.

"God, Malfoy! Do you live just to pop out of shadows as I walk by? There are better ways to kill me than by scaring me with _that_ face," I said, gesturing to his languished features, which he had curved into the usual scowl.

"Answer the bloody question," he hissed.

"I can't 'answer the bloody question' because I don't understand the bloody question! And let go of my elbow! Threatening passers-by in the underbelly of Hogwarts is morbid, even for you," I said in exasperation. I felt his grip leave my arm.

"Fine. I'll rephrase: what did you say to my blood traitor of a cousin about me? Because Snape said you got me a ticket to Dumbledore's office this evening, Zabini, and it's really not scoring you any favours."

I wasn't fazed by his intimidation tactics. It was his words that sparked concern.

"Y-you're headed to the headmaster's office as well? Right now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Beautiful. Looks like you did yourself in as well."

Without another word, he turned from me and started down the hallway. I ran to catch up.

"Wait, Malfoy."

I grabbed his left sleeve to stop him, and he threw me off with incredible hostility, looking ready to spew a torrent of hexes. He stopped suddenly, just as a teardrop of mine threatened to go overboard. I wiped it out of my eye, mortified at showing such weakness to him.

"What?" he asked tersely.

"What if … what if it's something to do with our parents?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe with yours. Mine are locked safely away in hell."

"That's not helpful," I said reproachfully.

"Well what do you want from me, Zabini? I'm not going to hold your hand and tell you it'll all be alright."

"I don't want you holding my hand! But you don't have to make things worse," I snapped.

"No one held my hand, did they?" he seethed. "Least of all you and your band of Gryffindor dipshits. Maybe you could use a taste of your own medicine, Zabini. A little family trauma might do you some good."

The tears came back to my eyes as I grasped exactly what he was wishing upon me.

"I hate you," I whispered fiercely.

I can attest to the fact that, at that point, I really truly meant it.


	4. Very Tired Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'd just like to give a big thanks to all of you that have read and have taken an interest in this story! I hope you enjoy this chapter and feel free to let me know if you have any comments or questions!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Good evening, you two," said Dumbledore as we marched wordlessly into his office. I was still lit up with anger; even the splendor in Fawkes, his famously loyal phoenix, couldn't keep it at bay. "Are you alright, Heidi?"

"Yes, Professor," I said as I lowered myself onto a puffy red chair across from his desk.

"You too may sit, Mister Malfoy."

I was all too aware that he had sat himself beside me, the gleam of his platinum hair apparent in the fringes of my vision.

"I don't doubt that you two have fretted over my reasons for asking you here. Rest assured that nothing bad has happened, and that your loved ones are quite safe, wherever they may currently be." Dumbledore gave Malfoy a particularly long look, and I realized he meant this comment specifically for him.

He grunted dismissively in response. I scowled at the disrespect.

"You two have known each other for a long time, yes?" said Dumbledore.

"Practically since birth," I interjected, before Malfoy could say anything snarky about knowing me for longer than he'd have liked to.

"Ah. I have heard something to that extent – that your families are very close. You two must understand each other well, having shared so many milestones."

Malfoy crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "You would think so, Professor, but it takes Zabini an exceptional amount of effort to understand anything," he said.

I huffed, forever falling for the bait. "That's because everything you do is _beyond_ understanding, Malfoy! You-"

Dumbledore held up his hand and I realized I was getting a little too into familiar routines. I blushed and mumbled an apology at him.

"It is not whether you two are fond of each other, Heidi; it's whether you two complement each other."

"Oh, easy: no. He does not compliment me, sir. Actually, he mostly insults me. If I'm really lucky, he ignores me. But definitely no compliments."

Malfoy wisely abstained from giving his opinion, and instead sat, looking very tired and very bored.

"You aspire to be Healers, correct?" asked Dumbledore. We nodded in unison. "Healing is a very good choice for you; you are both strong students. In fact, by the looks of your school records, you're evenly matched in nearly every subject."

Malfoy allowed his eyebrows to creep up in surprise. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"Yes, Draco, I'm afraid it is so," he said before continuing. "And how have the partners I assigned you been in this respect? Would you say they have been evenly matched to you?"

I hesitated, trying to find a way to tell a gentler version of the truth - but before I could think of one, Malfoy simply and confidently blurted 'no'.

Dumbledore took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking heavy with remorse. "This too has been brought to my attention. I hope you will forgive me for my hypocrisy. While preaching change to my students as a group, I chose to stick to old and tired habits when it came to you two. Admittedly, I am an old and tired habit myself, but that does you no favours. However, my slight will be remedied tonight. Upon Miss Parkinson's sudden departure from the program, and Miss Bones' transfer into Creature Care, the opportunity is now there to combine two talented individuals. What say you?"

Malfoy's mouth twitched into a deeper frown. "I'm not sure I understand. What is it that you want from us? If you're thinking of a partnership, the answer is a definite no."

"I understand your reluctance, Draco, but this seems to be your only option for now. I cannot have students working alone," said Dumbledore.

"Then get me Blaise!" he demanded. I was still silent, absorbing but barely understanding what Dumbledore was trying to achieve.

"Blaise is with Padma Patil, as I'm sure you know."

"Then get me somebody else! I'd sooner work with the Mud-"

"Don't you dare!" I snarled, having finally found my voice.

"I must agree with Heidi here, and implore you not to use such degrading words in my office."

Malfoy curled his lip and settled further into his chintz armchair.

Dumbledore turned his attention to me. "And you, Heidi? What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are …" Scattered. "Maybe this can be temporary?" I suggested hopefully. "People are switching a lot between programs, so maybe someone else will join and we can split up."

Dumbledore considered this for a moment, and nodded. "It is possible. I will certainly keep it in mind as an option. But for now, it is best for you two to seek some common ground. Professor Snape, it seems, is not so fond of dueling next to his Potions storeroom this year. Something about irreplaceable ingredients getting destroyed …" He cast us a knowing smile from above his spectacles and I blushed as I recalled the damage done.

"Are we done, then?" said Malfoy. His previous outrage had turned into bored indifference.

"Yes, Draco, you may leave," said Dumbledore.

By the time I had gained enough composure to go down to the Dungeons, Malfoy was long gone.

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The next morning, I walked into McGonagall's class with such trepidation that she thought someone had jinxed me to walk in slow motion. Once I saw Malfoy wasn't there, however, I sprinted to a desk and launched myself into the seat to everyone's surprise. It wasn't until she finished explaining the merits of digit transfiguration that I realized I was utterly screwed.

"Each partner must hold very still as the other attempts this, or you risk losing more than a finger. You will be evaluated on your skills next week." Her eyes travelled to me, alone in my aloneness. She frowned and glanced at the clock, which showed that Malfoy was twenty minutes late and counting.

"Mister Zabini, are you aware of your fellow Slytherin's whereabouts?"

My brother shook his head.

"Did anybody see him at breakfast this morning?"

The class in its entirety shook theirs.

Her thin frown curved downwards still. "I see. Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask another group to take you on for today's lesson, Heidi. Terry and Anthony, what about you? You seem to have the spell perfected." She didn't leave the amusement out of her tone as she looked at the pair.

Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein hastily hid their wands and pretended not to have been practicing the spell ad nauseam as she taught.

I couldn't tell if I was impressed with or afraid of their desperation for scholarly perfection. At any rate, I was comparatively more afraid of having Malfoy cast spells on my 'digits', so I walked confidently to the seat next to Anthony's and settled in.

"Heidi," he said with a curt nod, adjusting his collar the way I'd only ever seen seriously adult adults do.

"Hey, Anthony. Terry." I nodded just as curtly at both of them.

Terry pushed his glasses up his nose and straightened up importantly. "I prefer Terrence, actually."

I tried not to wrinkle my nose. "Really? But in the D.A. meetings you said-"

He broke into a smile. "Of course not. I'm just messing with this guy," he said, pointing to Anthony. "He's been all business since the first day he got here and it's driving me insane. He's been studying for classes in advance all summer, and roping me into practicing spells with him since we got on the Express."

"Wait, you studied for class in _advance_?" I exclaimed.

"Of course! Sixth year is the time to get ready for Seventh year, which then determines where you'll be for the rest of your life. Frankly, Heidi, if you haven't revised this summer, it may already be too - oof! Terry, mind your elbow!"

"What my conversationally inept friend meant to say is that you have no need to worry about that kind of thing, Heidi, because you're incredibly smart as it is."

"Well now I _know_ you've never actually listened to her speak," drawled the Ghost of Ferrets Past from behind me. I turned and looked him up and down.

"I thought they reported you missing," I said plainly.

Malfoy scowled and pushed past my chair to sit in Blaise's row.

"I'm afraid not, Mister Malfoy," said McGonagall of his effort to get rid of me. His scowl turned more profound as he made his way back to our table.

"There's no chair for me."

I turned to the two Ravenclaws. "Would you two happen to have an extra throne for Prince Ferret? No? Okay then." My self-satisfaction was cut off by the sound of chair legs crashing beside me.

"Alright, Freak, let's get this over with. Give me your hand."

" _What?_ " I spluttered. "Are you mad? Malfoy, let go of-" But he had already snatched my hand and pulled it onto his lap. "Malfoy, listen to me, you don't know the spell! Malfoy, _listen to_ -"

"Shut up, Zabini, you're boring me. _Digitus Verto!_ "

I looked on in intrigued disgust as my left thumb shrank into nothingness. "Malfoy!" I squeaked, once I'd found my ability to vocalize. "Malfoy, my thumb!"

"What about it?" he asked nonchalantly.

"It's completely gone!"

"I'm sure it's just on vacation, Zabini," Malfoy said with a satisfied smirk. Terry and Anthony stared at him, but he ignored them as he always had. "Besides, what do you need opposable thumbs for? It gives people the wrong idea about you. You know, that you're better than a monkey."

"Many monkeys have thumbs, Malfoy," snapped Anthony.

Malfoy gave him a murderous look. "How about minding your own business? Don't think I even bothered learning your name, come to think of it."

"It's Anthony!" I snarled.

Malfoy leaned back and closed his eyes, looking ready to nap. "Fascinating information. Truly."

I was pleased to see McGonagall approach the scene in a matter of seconds, and give him a less-than-gentle rap on the shoulder. "I hope, Draco, that you have a good explanation for your partner's missing thumb. And while you come up with that, perhaps you can formulate a reason for your tardiness."

Even the innocent had a tendency to get worried when McGonagall used that tone, but Malfoy carried on with perfect indifference.

"I was sick this morning. Ask Pomfrey," he said with a shrug.

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue and regrew my thumb. "Hopefully your illness doesn't carry through to your final exams, Mister Malfoy, or you'll be in for big trouble."

For a split-second as her tartan cloak swished out of sight, I thought Malfoy was repressing tears. Then, he opened his mouth in a monumental yawn.

"You're such a bloody jerk," I reproached him.

He stopped mid-yawn to give me a blasé, half-lidded stare. "Want to try a finger, Zabini?"

I looked at him skeptically. "To transfigure?" I glanced at Terry and Anthony, and reminded myself that they were fully qualified D.A. members capable of keeping him from killing me. "O-okay…" I gulped and pointed my wand at his index finger.

"No, Zabini. This one." He made my favourite hand gesture and strode out of class just as the clock tower rang. I looked on in disbelief.

"Is he always such a foul git to you?" asked Terry.

"I think … I think he's actually gotten _worse_ ," I remarked, still staring at the door through which he'd disappeared without giving me so much as a second thought.

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If I had thought that the simple act of finding myself in Snape's class on a Monday morning was bad enough, then that was obviously before I had Malfoy as a partner.

"Malfoy, where are you going!" I demanded as he wove through the seemingly endless rows of tables.

"Do you need a compass or something, Freakface?" he asked, finally coming to a stop behind an empty table. He threw down his bag and sat. "This is what's called the back of a classroom," he said with a condescending smirk.

"Never mind what it's called, Ferret. I'll pay you a thousand galleons if you can actually see the blackboard from here."

"Why bother looking when I've got my own personal note-taker?" He wore a nasty grin as he said it, and it normally would have pissed me off, but my anger couldn't quite get past the grey bags under his eyes.

"You need your quill out," I mumbled for lack of anything cutting to say, leaving Malfoy looking more confused than affronted. I began jotting down the few directions I could see.

_3 dashes of Bog-myrtle_

_14.4 grams of Philosopher's wool_

_One vial of Poppy seeds_

From the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy give a struggled yawn. I dropped my quill and wheeled around to face him.

"Have you been sleeping at all?" I hissed. I tried to stay quiet, in case someone caught on to my concern. But no one else was listening at all – they were all too busy scurrying around in search of extra cauldrons and scales.

He frowned at me suspiciously. "What are you on about, Zabini?"

"You keep yawning!" I accused.

"Maybe that's because you're an absolute bore."

"Then why-"

"For anybody too daft to realize, we are brewing anti-venoms today," rang Snape's eternally-dissatisfied voice. "I myself have to step out for a moment. Instructions are on the board – I suggest you follow them. If this classroom is altered in any way, shape, or form, I will personally dock fifty points from all of you."

"You heard the man," Malfoy said dismissively. "Stop meddling and get the ingredients."

He frowned at me as I stayed in my seat, staring at him.

"You've been taking Wake Draught, haven't you?" I said bluntly, eyes fixed on his jawline. I saw it clench.

Malfoy moved his chair back so fast that the floor screeched; he was clearly desperate for distance. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You have blue discoloration on your jaw," I said, pointing to the pastel blue rings above his neck. "I can see it because you're so pale."

His hand moved to cover the offending area, but it was pointless. There was no arguing. I knew all about the potion from Hermione, who would sooner mess with time itself than take Wake Draught to stay productive.

"Malfoy, you can't play around with that stuff. It can kill you. They barely have an antidote."

"Go get the ingredients, Za-"

"Are you _listening_ to me? You could end up dy-"

"I said go get the-"

"NO!" I shouted, fed up with his complete disregard for my words of warning. There was movement all around us as our peers turned to look. I cleared my throat awkwardly. "No, um … because … because we have to get them together. As partners."

Malfoy had gone stiff under the attention. "Fine," he hissed. He made to stand up, but a strange, almost alarmed look passed over his face. He fell back into his seat. "You know, I just realized I don't take orders from blood traitors and Potty lovers. Get them yourself or don't get them at all; makes no difference to me."

I glared at him and sprang up. "Fine then, you absolute jerk!"

I marched into the potions storeroom, taking as much Bog-myrtle, Philosopher's wool and poppy seed as my heart desired. After several calming breaths, I came back to our table.

"Oh aren't you just _hilarious_ , Malfoy," I said sarcastically as he sat with his eyes closed. "No, really, I get it: I'm so boring that I put you to sleep." I set the ingredients in front of us and began rationing them. He made no move to help – in fact, he made no moves at all. "Come on, Malfoy, it's getting old. Start helping."

Nothing. My pulse began to speed. I put my hands on his shoulders, and when even being touched by a filthy creature like me neglected to cause a stir, I knew it was time to panic.

 


	5. Faith, Both Bad and Blind

It was by small miracle that Snape chose this moment to come back to class.

"Professor Snape! Something's wrong with Malfoy!" I said in a flurry, still trying to rattle him awake. The longer he was out, the less chance he would ever wake up at all.

"Stand aside," ordered Snape as he hoisted Malfoy from his seat. I saw his black eyes linger on his jaw the same way mine had, and caught the briefest flash of worry. It was enough to tell me that this wasn't good.

"Will he be okay?" I asked, unable to rip my eyes from the blond, who was hanging limply from the professor's side.

Snape fixed me a sneer. "Of what consequence is that to you, Miss Zabini? From what I know of your relationship, you would be the first to hope that it not be the case." He led Malfoy to the door. "I expect you to finish this potion yourself, Zabini," he called over his shoulder. "Do not get help from the other teams or it will be a zero."

Numbly, I went back to our desk. I spared a glance at Blaise who, like the rest of the class, had witnessed the whole thing. But my brother looked wholly unaffected by the fact that his closest friend had been hauled away to the Hospital Wing. He was already opening his vial of Poppy seeds and dumping them carefully into his cauldron with Padma guiding him along.

It seemed the only person who Malfoy's episode humbled was me.

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Snape's assessment of our relationship nagged at the deepest parts of my conscience, even days later. Of course we weren't each other's biggest fans, but seeing Malfoy lifeless in a chair had been nothing short of gut-wrenching. Did our hatred really extend as far as death? Would McGonagall have made the same remark to him if I had been the one to pass out?

Would he have even alerted McGonagall at all?

"I just walked past Crabbe and Goyle," said Ron as he settled down in front of our Common Room fireplace. It was Sunday morning and I had been up for hours, working on a two-person essay that Snape had assigned solely to me while Malfoy was in hospital.

"Not hard to do, mate, with the pace they go at," said Harry with a grin. He was going through a corny looking book on Quidditch captain leadership techniques, and making more notes in the margins than the Half-Blood Prince himself (whoever that was).

Ron sniggered at the comment. "Fair enough. Anyway, I overheard them say that Malfoy still hasn't come out of the Hospital Wing. It's been nearly a week now. Isn't that wicked news?"

I froze mid-scribble, then forced myself to give a half-hearted nod. I caught sight of Ron's book-bag, slumping under the weight of at least twenty magazines. By the looks of it, he'd been collecting 'wicked news'.

"What's in your bag?" I asked.

"Skeeter's column, part two." He grinned and took it out.

"You're subscribed to that garbage?" I snatched it from him and my jaw dropped in astonishment. " _Ron!_ You've highlighted entire paragraphs!"

"Yeah. It's called research."

Hermione snorted from the other side of the room, which she had forbidden us to approach until she finished her essay on the systematic oppression of Merpeople in coastal towns.

I looked around and saw a previously unnoticed copy underneath Harry's stack of Quidditch books. "You're doing research too, are you? On Draco Malfoy the Great?" I chided.

Harry smiled half-ashamedly. "S'pose I am."

I sighed and sank into my armchair, defeated. It was then that I noticed Seamus Finnegan's copy. And Dennis Creevey's copy. And some First Year named Brian's copy. I turned back to Ron. "Why does _all of Gryffindor_ have a copy of Malfoy's life story, as told through Skeeter's lies?"

Ron gave another toothy grin. "Fred and George paid for all of our subscriptions in case some people aren't signed up for the Prophet. Speaking of which-" he reached into his bag and withdrew a copy. "Here you go, Heidi. Pass it on to Michael Corner when you're done though. We want Ravenclaw to have a look."

I scoffed and took it from him to see what Skeeter had dug up this time.

_Trouble is certainly brewing in the house of Bad Faith, as I found out when my crew and I visited Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban this past week. The man, once regally handsome and elegantly dressed, has become something akin to the laughingstock of the elite. But there is not much to laugh at – he sits sallow-faced and raggedy behind steel bars, and responds to my questions with sneers that no longer hold quite the same effect. I cannot help but wonder if he will ever climb his way back to the top rung of society's ladder. My Galleons are on 'absolutely not'._

_What says Narcissa Malfoy of her husband's fate? "Not much," states the wife of the assistant to her Healer's subordinate. Apparently, the Malfoy matriarch is suffering greatly in rehabilitation for her drinking problem, which resulted in her throwing her shoes (from_ last season's _Wicked Witch collection – money troubles, perhaps?) at a junior Healer's face two days ago._

_It seems the fate of the family name rests on their sixteen-year-old son, Draco. Bad faith, indeed. Or, more fittingly, 'bad person to put faith in'. With a long string of failures following the young blond (from losing easy Qudditch matches, to being scholastically upstaged by those who barely knew what 'Slytherin' was by the time he was already aspiring to be in it), he must truly cause a bang to stay relevant. To what extent is he willing to go?_

_Some say he has already gone to the darkest of sides: to the feet of 'The Dark Lord' himself, in the footsteps of his father (who is no longer a Lord at all – not even of his own Manor)._

I gaped at the libel in my hands. "She's calling Malfoy a _Death Eater_ now?"

"Yeah, well, Skeeter likes a good fall from grace," said Harry darkly.

"This isn't just a fall from grace, Harry, this could ruin him! He could get arrested over this without even a trial with the way the Ministry's been going lately. It'll put him over the edge."

"He's on the edge?" Harry asked skeptically.

"You haven't noticed?"

"I hate to break it to you, Heidi, but that prat's not exactly the object of our usual attentions," said Ron.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I know _that_. But it's hardly subtle, is it? I mean look at him. He's all thin and hostile-"

"As opposed to the warm and burly Malfoy we know and love?" he said.

Harry chuckled. I shot him a frown.

"He's taken so much Wake Draught it's given him spots and landed him in hospital!" I insisted, getting frustrated at how quick they were to ignore this.

"He's taken that much?" gasped Hermione, looking appropriately horrified.

Ron shrugged. "So the Ferret wants to stay awake past his bedtime, so what?"

Hermione dropped her quill and darted over to lecture him with her honey brown eyes blazing. "Do you know what that stuff does to you, Ronald? That's like getting thirsty and drinking vinegar to quench it! The pros outweigh the cons so much you'd have to be an idiot to try."

"Since when isn't Malfoy an-"

But it was Harry who contributed an answer. "What if Skeeter's right?" he said quietly. "What if Malfoy did join Voldemort?"

I shook my head violently. "No. No way."

"It explains the desperation, though, doesn't it? What if Voldemort's got him doing something that's making him desperate enough to take that potion?"

"Harry, believe me, Malfoy's only crime is being an imbecile. There's no way he'd join Voldemort; he's seen what it's done to his dad."

"Still-"

"Harry, drop it! It's not true."

I had no idea what was causing me to defend Malfoy so fiercely. Blind faith, maybe. Blind faith and the hope that, despite his infinite shortcomings, he was still the harmless jerk my parents adored having over for dinner.

"Perhaps he's just struggling to keep up with homework," reasoned Hermione. "You know, in light of everything else."

"If anything, I'm the one with the homework. I haven't had a partner for days now that he's out, and the workload hasn't exactly decreased."

The trio wheeled on me unexpectedly.

"He's your _partner?_ " sputtered Harry.

"I told you that!"

"No, you said you lost your old partner. You didn't say anything about your new one," he pointed out.

I waved them all away. "Is anyone honestly surprised, you guys? I've been stuck with him for years. What's a few more wasted months."

"Still," said Hermione. "I was sure they'd put you with Anthony and Terry, or something."

"Dumbledore thinks we're 'intellectually compatible."

Ron cringed. "And that doesn't offend you?"

"He's smarter than you think, actually," Hermione said. "He came in fourth in our year for O.W.L. results. Only Padma Patil, Terry Boot and I beat him. And you would have too, Heidi, if you hadn't…"

"Set fire to a plant during my Herbology exam? Yeah. I know." I sighed and rolled up the parchment I was working on. "Well trying to beat him won't do me much good anymore; our grades are shared. Which means I need to go give him these." I showed them my stack of parchment, where I had assignment details and class notes written out just for him.

"Good luck, mate," said Ron as I got up to leave.

Harry ran after me. "Heidi, wait!"

I turned to him.

"You'll tell us if you notice anything strange, right?" he said hopefully.

"Harry, you know I always do. And always will," I added, to reassure him.

What the hell did I know?

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It was the very precipice of visiting hours by the time I'd actually made it to the Hospital Wing. I had procrastinated in every which way, even going so far as to try and have a casual conversation with Peeves, who expanded my encyclopedia of insults exponentially by spewing them at me. At least I was armed with new skills for handling Malfoy, who I was sure would be in one of his 'moods'. But when I crept into the candlelit Hospital Wing, with its rows of beds and tray tables, I found him looking very much asleep. A jolt of disquiet went through me. Three more days and he'd be a goner…

"I told you, didn't I?" I scolded him, knowing full well that I wouldn't get an answer. "Pomfrey better haul you out of this state quick or you'll be off to St. Mungo's."

I pulled out his bedside table so I could leave his homework somewhere visible, and found a copy of the Prophet on top of it. I looked at it indecisively for all of one second, then snatched it up to rifle my way through to Skeeter's insert. Carefully, I made to slip it into my bag and out of sight.

"Do you always talk people out of their REM cycle, Zabini?"

"Malfoy!" I gasped, the magazine sliding out of my schoolbag. "You're awake!"

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "I don't know what the Potty gang tells you, but your voice isn't exactly a lullaby." Malfoy pointed to the fallen tabloid, where a picture of his face took up the entire cover. "Did you want me to sign that for you? I could make it out to the Useless Zabini, from the Embodiment of Family Shame."

I swallowed nervously. "So you read it, huh?"

"Hasn't everyone?"

"Of course not! I mean, Michael Corner hasn't. And I'm sure Luna hasn't since she only reads the Quibbler. And you shouldn't either; what that woman is writing is pure garbage." To prove my point, I picked it up and ripped it to shreds. Or tried to.

"It's indestructible, Zabini," he said.

I caught the amused smirk in his eyes and blushed. I hadn't come here to embarrass myself.

"Of course it's indestructible; all the worst things are," I grumbled. "Explains why you're still alive and kicking, I suppose."

The smirk faded from his eyes, and the laughter along with it. He stared solemnly at the window ahead, where stars had already begun to appear. I looked down at my shoes, feeling the dull gnaw of guilt.

"Sorry, Malfoy. I … I shouldn't have said that."

His face darkened further. He made no motion to accept my apology.

I sat down on the bed beside his, and stayed there for another silent minute. "You're really good at sulking, you know," I observed. "Better than Harry, now that I think about it - you've got the eyebrow thing down pat, so it's all very 'coming to terms with my mortality'."

The corners of his mouth twitched and he turned to me, looking smug. "I think it goes without saying that the sole skill Potter has over me is getting his head split into stupid shapes."

"You know, I would love to help you out with that," I said with a half-smile. "I'm more than qualified to give you a head injury or two, wouldn't you say?"

Malfoy snorted. "Get your own head injuries under control first, would you?" He eyed me suspiciously as I got more comfortable. "What are you here for, anyway? Because if you say it's to have a bedtime chat, I'm getting Pomfrey."

"Oh _god_ no," I said, springing up from the bed. "I came to drop your homework off. It's right there."

He looked at his bedside table. "Ah yes. _There_ it is."

"You have to do it, Malfoy; don't try to get out of it. We'll be getting tested soon on everything we know."

Malfoy smirked. "I'm being tested right now, Zabini, just by your presence."

I rolled my eyes at his hyperbole. "You should be nicer to me, you know. You still need me to explain the homework."

"Like hell I do. I can wave my wand and say some spells just fine. And, unlike you, I can keep a plant alive for more than one minute."

"Okay, you are basing your assessment on the very distant past, and it is completely irrelevant now. As are you." I turned up my nose at him, causing his smirk to grow tenfold.

"Four months is now the very distant past?" he remarked. "Either way, it doesn't take Longbottom to figure out that you're still a plant's worst nightmare. And speaking of the witless wonder, isn't he _better_ than you at Herbology?"

"Alright, you know what? I'm leaving!" I snapped. I had made it five steps, before feeling the need to turn back to him. "Hey, Malfoy, um … cut down on the near-death experiences, would you? I still want to annihilate you in Quidditch and it's a little hard when you look like … that."

"Zabini, I could lose both arms and still win that match," he said, before closing his eyes and announcing quite obnoxiously that visiting hours were over.

I scowled and made my way to the exit, near which another copy of the Prophet lay. I checked to see that Malfoy wasn't looking, before sneaking it into my bag and away from the student body. I convinced myself it was so the First Years wouldn't have to look at someone so blindingly pale.

 


	6. An Avalanche of Malfoys

Seven minutes. Seven minutes was all I had before Harry subjected me to one of his Oliver Wood-esque Quidditch lectures. But seven minutes was not nearly enough time to find my Beater's bat, which seemed to have vanished from the room completely.

"Are you looking for something?" asked Hermione curiously, peering out from behind a textbook the size of a house.

"Yes!" I wailed as I lifted my crimson bed-skirt. I shoved my collection of Skeeter's magazines out of the way and cursed myself for squirrelling them away each time I'd spotted a copy. What had started as a brave show of moralistic principles (or whatever) had pretty much ended up with Malfoy paraphernalia taking over every nook and cranny of my space. At around day four, when the remaining stacks of his face had nowhere to go but under my pillow, I drew the line and started sneaking them off to the Room of Requirement.

"What is it you're looking for?" she asked.

"My bat! If I don't show up to practice, Harry will go absolutely ballistic and ban me from pie again."

"He's banned you from pie before?"

I sighed, shoving my bedside table to check behind it. "Food's the only punishment I respond to. You know this."

"Fair point." She slid off her bed. "I'll help you, then. Have you looked inside your wardrobe?"

"NO!" I darted to the wardrobe in question and blocked her from it. As I had found out earlier last night, opening the doors led to an avalanche of Malfoys. "I um … I have your birthday present in here."

"But you already gave me my present," she said, gesturing to the gift set of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion sitting on her table.

"Right. Well I'm talking about your other present. For your Birthday...versary?"

"You're a worse liar than Ron," Hermione said. "But I guess I haven't been totally truthful either." She sighed and looked at me with pity. "There's a high possibility that your bat isn't in the room."

My eyes snapped to hers and narrowed in suspicion. This wouldn't be the first time she meddled in Quidditch; her reporting Harry's Firebolt to McGonagall in third year was still sore on everyone's mind.

"Hermione Jean Granger, _what_ did you do?"

"Harry asked me to bring out your bat and give it to him, since he can't come in here himself … so I did."

I rubbed my temples. This was too much.

"You - you brought my bat out to Harry? My lucky bat?"

Hermione huffed and put her hands on her hips.

"Heidi, that thing is ancient! It's breaking at least three safety violations!"

"No, it's _almost_ breaking at least three safety violations. The distinction is important, which I'm sure you understand, seeing as you want to work in law."

She scowled. "Just be grateful it wasn't your broom! I'm tempted to bring that one to McGonagall myself."

I rolled my eyes. "Which would make me what kind of a Quidditch player? A broomless, batless one?"

"Better than a legless, neckless one."

I gave one last groan of protest and took off for the pitch, convinced that pie was now a thing of the past for me. But when I got there, instead of yelling, Harry enthusiastically waved me over to the locker rooms.

"I was just about to start, Heidi!"

He pulled me in front of the rest of the team and beamed at me. Demelza Robbins and I exchanged nervous glances.

"Er … did you need something?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do - I thought I'd start training with a bit of an update on our competition. Courtesy of you, that is." He turned to the rest of the team. "She made FWOT partners with Malfoy, which, lucky for us, means free and unlimited information on his state of being. Now he's usually the one feeding Urquhart information about which moves to make, so I'm thinking a lot of what he says will depend on how he's planning to fly."

I couldn't help but laugh in astonishment. " _What?_ "

Harry blinked. "…What?"

"It's true, Heidi. Urquhart's thicker than a drunken troll. He only became captain because he's older; Malfoy's the one putting tactics together," said Ron.

"That's not what I was laughing at. I was laughing because I don't _have_ unlimited information on Malfoy's 'state of being' and I have no idea where you even thought this up!"

Harry's face dropped. "You have to have something on him. Come on, Heidi, get your head in the game! This is our greatest chance to win!"

"Are you joking? Have you seen the state of him? There's nothing that I could possibly say that isn't obvious to anyone who bothers to look," I argued. "Our 'greatest chance to win' is if Snape even lets him show up to play instead of putting him on sick leave like he ought to; he'll be off his broom in seconds."

Ron and Harry looked at each other and grinned.

"Sweet! Make sure to tell him to stay on no matter what Snape says, will you?"

"That isn't a good thing," I muttered darkly, but Harry had already moved on to discussion of how to integrate the Transylvanian Tackle with the Bludger Backbeat.

"Oh, that reminds me!" said Harry, as he turned to me. "Ron, get the box."

"What box?" I asked, looking around wildly at my teammates, none of which would make eye contact. Katie Bell, Ritchie Coote and Ginny Weasley were looking especially sheepish. "What box?" I asked again.

Ron disappeared for a moment behind one of the heavy metal lockers in the locker room. When he emerged, he presented me with a long, slender box covered in badly-taped wrapping paper of Christmas lights that were charmed to glow. A frayed black and orange ribbon sat askew it, while stickers of Cupid covered the patches in the paper.

Harry cleared his throat. "This is a birthday gift from the entire team."

_Like hell it is._

I surveyed my team members with a raised eyebrow and held up the package, knowing exactly what it was. "Did someone vomit the whole calendar year on this? Oh, no, wait – we're missing Easter." I put the bat aside. "Now I know this may surprise you, seeing as we've only known each other for six years, but my birthday is definitely, one-thousand-and-one percent _not_ in September."

"Then it's a back to school gift," Harry insisted.

"Consider me a dropout."

"Heidi-"

"Harry Potter, you listen to me! I do not want a new bat. I do not _need_ a new bat. The only thing I need is my old bat, with the peeling wood and the wobbly handle, because _that_ is the bat that broke Crabbe's face, shattered Malfoy's kneecap and knocked Pucey off his broom all in the same match. Got it?"

He sighed and muttered something that had the word 'stubborn' in it.

"Speaking of which, where is it?"

"Hidden," he said firmly.

"Where?"

"A room."

"A room where?"

"A room where I hide things. Now can we move on or – ZABINI GET BACK HERE! I'm your captain! I'll ban you from – from..."

But what it was he banned me from was inaudible on this side of the pitch. I stormed into the castle, broom trailing behind me.

"'Room where I hide things' indeed," I muttered darkly. But how could I have missed it? I'd gone into the Room of Requirement loads of times to drop off copies of Malfoy's column. How could-

"Why so glum, Freakface? Potter drop you from the team already?"

I stopped short, hissing frustrated air through my teeth as I did so. "You know, you could take the time to come up with a new nickname, seeing as you've been recycling that one from when we were ten." I pushed past him. "I don't have time for you anyway, Malfoy."

"Well aren't you just a busy little blood traitor today," he drawled. "Looks to me like the Quidditch Pitch is the other way, though."

"I'm not going to the pitch, you dunce. I'm going to find the Beater's bat that Ron and Harry _stole_ from me and put in the Room of Requirement."

Malfoy laughed humorlessly from behind me, making me realize that he was actually following me as I walked.

"Malfoy, are you aware that you're voluntarily putting yourself in my presence outside of class?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I scoffed and bounded up the steps with him at my back. "Yeah, it almost beats my September birthday present."

"Your birthday's in September and your mother didn't even bother to throw you a party?"

I turned on my heel, pleasantly surprised at the height advantage that the steps gave me.

"My birthday is in April, just like Blaise's. Or do you not understand how twins work?"

He smirked up at me. "Still doesn't explain the lack of parties."

I narrowed my eyes. So he was looking for a fight today, was he?

"You of all people know why I don't have parties, _Ferret._ "

"Because Mummy and Daddy don't love you."

It took all my efforts to bite my tongue and not deliver what would have been an easy, parent-related low blow. "Goodbye, Malfoy," I said with dignity, as I continued up the steps.

"What? No comeback about how my parents don't love me either?"

He said it like I'd thwarted some plan of his.

"You and I both know your family's obsessed with you," I replied impatiently.

Malfoy scoffed at what I said, then looked around, frowning. We had reached the seventh floor. "Isn't this where we caught your D.A. lot last year?"

"Yeah," I said as I walked back and forth in front of the blank wall.

_I need the place where things are hidden. I need the place where things are hidden. I need the place where-_

An iron door materialized out of nowhere. I reached for the doorknob, only to have him shove past me and swing it open.

"This doesn't look like the same room," he remarked, taking in the overwhelming stacks of clutter and towers of magical knickknacks. An enormous stuffed troll seemed to serve as the room's pièce de résistance.

Malfoy walked ahead of me, and inspected his surroundings with the sort of lissomness that only comes with practice lurking. I realized just then how the summer had changed him, not only in appearance and health, but in mannerisms. He ran his fingers ever-so-lightly over a pillar, and I watched with a captivated unrest. Maybe Harry hadn't been so off in suggesting that he was up to no good …

"Is there a password to this place?" he asked, throwing me from my fixation.

"Oh, uh … sort of. I guess." In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't a good idea to give him access to a room so useful. "Hey, Malfoy?"

"Hm?" he asked, his attention caught by a huge black wardrobe. He slid past a broken armchair to get to it.

"You don't seem yourself this year. You know that, right?"

He turned to me, rife with agitation. Then his gaze slipped to my left. "What's all this?" he asked, pointing to the heap of magazines I had smuggled away over the course of a week.

I gaped at it with blazing cheeks. We had taken a different route through the room than I usually did, one that I didn't realize led to my hiding place. Malfoy, Slytherin that he was, didn't fail to notice that I was exhibiting every single sign of guilt.

"My, my, Zabini. Looks like someone built themselves a little library."

"I didn't mean to!" I exclaimed.

Malfoy crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this without an explanation.

"Look, I wasn't going to do anything quite so … drastic. But then Fred and George bought all of Gryffindor a subscription, and Ron started highlighting it, and I was told to pass my copy on to Michael Corner of all people and …"

He gestured for me to continue, looking delighted. " _And?_ "

"And I realized that maybe I shouldn't. And neither should anyone else," I said. I held up my hand. "Before you say anything, just know that I was going to destroy them – you know, like a normal person. But, as you said, they're indestructible." I picked one up and tried setting it on fire to refresh his memory. The flames came out as nothing but a pathetic ribbon of smoke. "So I ended up keeping them all in my room."

Malfoy's eyebrows crept up.

"I know it's weird, Malfoy, don't give me that look!" I snapped. "Anyway, it got rather off-putting having five stacks of _this_ -" I pointed to the enormous picture of his face, "staring up at me while I dug around for clothes-"

"Not while you were naked, surely?" he asked pseudo-innocently, before he let his mouth twist into an evil smirk.

I growled at him and threw the magazine back into the pile.

"At any rate, I had to find an alternate location before people came up with theories about why I keep your face in my trunk."

Malfoy leaned in, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. "I have a theory," he whispered.

"I'll fight you if you keep this up," I warned. He backed away with a snicker. "The problem is that this isn't a real solution. I can hide these away day and night, but people will still get their hands on them as long as they keep making it into the castle."

"What are you proposing, Zabini?"

"I was thinking of maybe talking to one of the Professors. I'm sure if we spoke to Dumbledore he'd make sure there was a proper ban. I mean, it's practically harassment, isn't it? It has to be against at least some school regulations."

He gave the same dry scoff that he had given when I asked him for a truce in second year. "I suspected there was something wrong with that brain of yours, Zabini, but I had no idea it was that bad."

He began going further into the room, clearly finished with our discussion. I stubbornly followed him.

"Malfoy, this is serious!" I insisted. "People are reading this and getting _completely_ misled about what goes on in families like ours."

I saw his shoulders tense underneath his charcoal blazer.

"So that's what this is, Zabini. 'Families like ours'. You're trying to curtail this before Mummy and Daddy end up in the press next to us."

The theory was so absurd that all I could do was throw my arms in desperation. "Out of all the bizarre, idiotic things you have said to me over the years, this has to be one of the worst! I'm doing this because you look like you've been dragged through all seven layers of hell, and you reading about how much of a screw up you are can't be helping things! Not to mention the fact that the woman's calling you a Death Eater. That's dangerous, Malfoy. Someone could take that to heart and try to really hurt you."

"What are you saying, Zabini?" he asked suspiciously. "Are you saying you don't believe her?"

"Of course I don't believe her!" I spluttered.

"And why is that?"

"Because you're an intelligent human being! Horrible, and cruel, and ferrety, yes. But intelligent."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Backhanded compliments? That's not very Gryffindor of you."

"It's the closest you'll get to a real one," I remarked, trying not to smile.

"Well despite your shitty efforts to suck up to me, I'm still going to have to tell you that if you go to Dumbledore, McGonagall or any other little friends about that column, I'll make your life impeccably difficult."

"Of course you will," I said with a tired sigh.

"I mean it."

He stared at me intensely - long enough to make me squirm - then disappeared among the stacks. I took this as his departure, and left to look for my bat. As I picked apart my surroundings, I tried to think of loopholes to what Malfoy had said … maybe there was someone more permissible I could go to with this. Someone that I didn't consider a friend …

It was no more than ten minutes later that I heard a sharp sigh behind me.

"Bloody Potter can't do anything right," muttered Malfoy as he (to my greatest surprise yet) took my hand and shoved a Beater's bat into it.

I blinked at him.

"Don't look so shocked, Zabini. Sabotaging Potty and the Weasel is something I've always enjoyed. It just so happens that today, I enjoy it marginally better than sabotaging you." He smirked at my reaction. "And that's the closest _you'll_ get to a real compliment."

"Er … thank you?"

"For what?" he called over his shoulder. He was already heading for the exit. "You can cling to that bat all you want, it still doesn't change the fact that you're miserable at using it."

Compared to how things usually went, this practically made us bosom buddies.


	7. Vital Shifts and Secret Tunnels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanted to quickly leave a thanks to all those that have stopped by to read, subscribe, and leave a kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Miss Zabini, I will take this opportunity to remind you that I am a busy man, and that I do not wish to sit here making prolonged eye contact in silence. You cornered me citing an 'urgent matter'. You have little more than three seconds left to tell me what it is."

I cleared my throat whilst simultaneously regretting my life choices.

"Er… yes, Professor Snape. I assume you know Draco Malfoy."

"I do not appreciate the cheek, Zabini," he said menacingly.

I gulped inaudibly, though I was sure he noticed anyway.

"I wasn't – I didn't mean-"

" _Any_ minute now."

"I think Rita Skeeter's column should be banned from the school," I blurted, all at once.

He crossed his arms and stared me down under the flickering candlelight of his office. After a moment of consideration, the nostrils of his large nose flared. "Well, well. What has our famous 'Golden Trio' put you up to now, Zabini?"

"Nothing!"

He scoffed. "Don't lie to me. They're always around, those friends of yours, to stick their noses into things beyond their concern. And this is just the kind of thing that is _beyond your concern_."

"Haven't you seen the column?" I spluttered.

"If Draco has apprehensions, he will come to me himself. I sincerely doubt he's got you here on his behalf."

"Of course he won't come to you; he's Malfoy. He doesn't come to anyone for anything!" I insisted. "But that still doesn't change the fact that there's a magazine circulating around our school saying that he's a Death Eater-"

"Watch yourself, Zabini. We don't want to make unfounded allegations, now do we? It might land us in trouble."

I gaped at him, lost for words. More seconds slid by. "What you said in class about me hoping he'd get hurt – you really meant it," I said shakily.

"As a matter of fact I did."

I felt the sting of insult. "Well I don't. That's a sick thing to hope for, _Professor_."

"I have seen you two go at it for years like the spoiled and bratty children you are. One of you seems to have grown up, and the other is sitting in my office with a nasty trick up their sleeve."

I crossed my arms.

"With all due respect, if Skeeter's column keeps circulating around the school, I won't be the one people think has something nasty up their sleeve."

Snape acted like he hadn't heard me. "Perhaps you feel it's alright to continue doing this; perhaps you even think that it's fun. But I assure you that nobody has time for your antics anymore. Draco is busy considering his future-"

"What, like he'll have one after this? Who's going to hire a Death Eater?"

As if on cue, the headmaster appeared in the doorway. "Am I intruding, Severus?"

"No. Miss Zabini here was just leaving."

He cast me an unpleasant jerk of the head to tell me to get out.

"No, I wasn't."

"This matter needs no more discussion, you stubborn girl. I'll give you the same answer I give Potter, Weasley and Granger when they start to act out: mind your own affairs."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "May I enquire about the subject of this most fascinating conversation?"

Snape's mouth thinned. "Of course. Miss Zabini here has decided to-"

"From Heidi," corrected the headmaster with a polite smile.

Wordlessly, I dug into my bag and pulled out the object in question.

"People are reading these. And believing them. They're accusing Malfoy of being a Death Eater, they're talking about his mother's drinking problem, and they're getting more awful with each passing week. Someone's going to end up hurting him if this keeps up." I paused. "I was hoping to get them banned before they do."

"I never thought you considered Draco a friend, Heidi," said Dumbledore.

Snape sneered.

"I don't consider him a friend, Professor," I admitted. "Only a human being."

"I see." Dumbledore took the article and adjusted his glasses. His frown grew with every sentence. "I realize what you mean, Miss Zabini. These are disturbing accusations indeed."

"Headmaster, if we were to announce a ban, it would only cause the students to search for them harder. Remember last year, when Potter slandered the names of every prominent wizarding family in that magazine of Lovegood's? It only took Umbridge passing one of those decrees of hers to have The Quibbler end up in the hands of every student."

"Excuse me, but Harry didn't 'slander' anybody; everything he said about them was true - that's the whole difference," I dissented.

"That may be, but I'm afraid I agree with Severus," said Dumbledore as he handed the tabloid back to me. "Youth often craves that which authority has forbidden. However, your concerns have not fallen on deaf ears - though at my age they really ought to be. I will find a remedy."

"Thank you, sir," I said. I rose from the chair, which was so uncomfortable that my tailbone had lost all feeling. I wondered if Snape had chosen it on purpose, so nobody stayed for longer than a minute. I looked at my watch. I had been there, defending Malfoy, for forty. I swallowed nervously and turned back to the two. "Er … Malfoy doesn't have to know I came here, does he?"

With a small smile, the headmaster shook his head. I looked to Snape to see if he'd make the same agreement. He sat, thin-lipped and hook-nosed and - most importantly - silent.

I bit my lip, hoping I wouldn't have to beg.

"I just don't want him to-"

"Do not worry, Heidi. Professor Snape understands very well what it's like to despise revealing the best in oneself. He won't say a word," assured Dumbledore.

I muttered my thanks and scrambled out of the office, caught between feeling like a small winner and a huge traitor.

When I opened the newspaper the next morning, Skeeter's insert was nowhere to be found. Merlin, if my friends only knew …

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Today was destined to be an awful one for two reasons: one, it was the day I'd get to see if my Herbology assignment had - quite literally – survived. Two, it was the day I'd get to see if Malfoy knew I'd meddled when he warned me not to. In that case, the plant would probably be in better shape.

I said a silent prayer in front of the doors of Greenhouse Six, and crept in. Malfoy was already behind our workbench, looking just as bored as always, but much less sickly.

"Hi."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you want."

I rolled my eyes and set my books down. "The proper thing to say is 'hello'."

"Is it? I thought the proper thing to say is 'I told you not to stick your nose in my business'." He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. " _Well?_ " he drawled impatiently.

"I have a good explanation, Malfoy, I swear."

"Doing something idiotic because pictures of my face are staring up at you definitely doesn't qualify."

I shushed him, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"I told you not to go Dumbledore, didn't I? I know you're many things, Zabini, most of them annoying. But I never thought you were a liar."

"For your information, I didn't _go_ to Dumbledore!" I whispered indignantly. "I went to Snape!"

He warped his face into a look of skeptical confusion. "You went to who?"

"You heard me, Malfoy. So don't you dare lecture me about this, because it was hard enough!"

His eyebrows had shot up so high they were half-hidden by his bangs. "And what does Potter and his Weasel think of this?"

"They don't know," I mumbled, cheeks ablaze. I took our miniature Love-Lies-Bleeding off of its shelf in an effort to feel busy and nipped off the dying red tassels.

"It needs more growth serum," said Malfoy dismissively, before returning to the subject of interest. "What do you mean they don't know?"

"What do you think I mean?" I snapped, as I felt blindly in our drawer for the bottle of serum. I took out a dropper and dunked it in.

"And what has suddenly possessed you to keep secrets about me from the Golden – what the hell are you _–_ _use the small dropper, Zabini!_ " he barked suddenly, closing his hand over mine to stop me from accidentally murdering our group project. I squeaked and sent the vial to the floor by mistake, where it shattered into tiny glass splinters.

Madam Sprout turned her attention away from Sophie Roper and Pauline Yarrow to give me a sympathetic look.

Malfoy repaired the bottle, shook his head at me, and muttered something in a tone that suggested he had given up on this union ever being a decent idea.

"Shut up, Malfoy! The least you can do is say thank you."

"No, Zabini. The least I can do is abstain from killing you," he said arrogantly. "I think I'm doing a stunning job, don't you?"

He took the correct dropper and doled out seven little drops of serum in a circle, counting each one under his breath. "Pass me the tar."

I stood, rooted to the ground, trying to understand what I was playing witness to. Surely he wasn't _actually_ cooperating in class? Surely he wasn't behaving like a normal, capable partner?

"Zabini, I said-"

I set the tar in front of him, and continued staring, curious to see just when this would go wrong. But it never did. He remained silent but cooperative all day, and as we parted ways for dinner without a single bruise or missing body part, I couldn't help but sense that there had been some kind of vital shift in the way that we treated each other.

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I jumped as I heard the door to our dormitory swing open and slam just as rapidly. Hermione stormed in, dripping with stress.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Like hell I am. Ronald's being an idiot."

I tried to act surprised at this announcement, which she'd been making at least bi-weekly since First Year. "What happened?"

"He's accusing me of going to McGonagall about that magazine of Skeeter's and getting it banned!" she huffed.

I felt my eyes go wide and shoved a chocolate frog into my mouth before I could blurt anything incriminating. I followed her around the room with my gaze as she dizzyingly paced from window to door.

"I mean, it's utterly ludicrous. He really thinks I'd go and rat him and his brothers out to a teacher over _Malfoy_. Do I think Malfoy's gone off the deep end this year? Yes. Do I think he should stop taking potions that could kill him? Probably. Do I care enough to actually take time out of my day and pursue it? Absolutely not! But of course, Ron doesn't believe me, ever since his subscription stopped coming in the mail. I told him it was possible a professor had confiscated them when they hit the grounds, and he decided that meant I was behind it."

"Maybe Snape did it," I said. "Without anyone telling him to."

"That's what I said! I told them both they were being paranoid idiots, and that it could have been anyone from Slytherin."

"What did they say to that?" I asked.

"I don't know, I ran up here."

She collapsed onto the foot of her bed, having worn herself out, and looked around. Her eyes stopped at a set of drawn golden drapes. "Heidi?"

"Hmm?" I asked, unwrapping another frog. I threw the card over my shoulder, disinterested.

"What's behind those curtains?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, a window, probably."

She shook her head. "They'd be red like the others, not gold."

I pushed myself off the bed, sending a pile of purple wrappers to the floor, and pulled the drapes back to reveal a wooden door. I opened it to find a mop perched against one corner, and a bucket in another.

"See? Broom closet," I said to Hermione, who looked thoroughly unconvinced.

" _Lumos!_ " she cast, before stepping in. She went to the back wall and knocked thrice. "It's hollow."

Unable to resist adventure, I ran in after her and rapped on the wall. "You're right. This leads to something."

Hermione traced her fingers over the false bricks, searching for an openable seam or some other flaw in the construction. She had made it all the way to the floor, before letting out a victorious gasp. "I found something! _Alohamora._ "

We watched as the wall disappeared, opening into a dank, stone tunnel.

Hermione swallowed nervously.

"You know, maybe we shouldn't. This is the dungeons, after all. They could be keeping something down there…"

"What, like Snape's dance class?" I joked.

She rolled her eyes at me. "I was thinking more along the lines of something that could _kill_ us. You know, like a three-headed dog. Or a basilisk."

"Oh, my mistake. I'm sure Snape's dance class would leave you with minimal residual damage."

"Shut up," she sniffed, before taking me by the elbow and walking us through the semi-darkness. It took us a good five minutes to reach another door, which opened into a broom closet just like the one we'd first gone into.

"Wait! Do you hear that?" asked Hermione. A dull but steady rumbling vibrated through the room, seeming to come from the exit ahead of us.

"Open it slowly," I breathed, having suddenly gotten cold feet about the whole endeavor.

She raised an eyebrow at me that all but said 'I told you so'. I raised my wand, ready to curse whatever was on the other side.

All we saw was green.

Not a flash of green light, which would have been preferable given what we'd stumbled upon, but green _things_ : green curtains, green bedding, green pajama bottoms. Green pajama bottoms on great, fat legs.

"Heidi … is that …"

To say that we'd found Crabbe sleeping on his bed like a baby would be a bit of an overstatement; although the fetal position was vaguely decipherable, and the quantity of drool was pretty much the same, he looked less like a dozing infant and more like a troll that had finally been placated.

My eyes went to a silver trunk at the foot of the bed beside Crabbe's, and, as predicted, found my brother's name engraved on its side.

"Are we where we think we are?" I asked in a whisper. "Oh my god, Hermione, we _have_ to go before Malfoy comes back!" I grabbed Hermione by the arm and started tugging her backwards.

"Why Malfoy?" she asked.

I didn't quite know how to tell her that between keeping his face in my trunk, and going to my most despised teacher on his behalf, him finding me at the foot of his bed (I could tell, because he'd left his blazer on it) might lead to some questions about just how obsessed with him I had become.


	8. Sleeves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I just want to thank everyone for reading, and extend an extra thank you to those of you who shared your thoughts with me! 
> 
> Since I’ve got these chapters pre-written to a certain degree, updating should be on the regular (once every two to three days for now).
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Harry, stop pacing, we'll all do fine!" pleaded Ginny as he treaded circles in the grass by the changing rooms.

"Wait, can you explain how to do that weird Quaffle blocking thing again? The one with the elbow?"

" _Ron!_ " snarled Ginny, giving her brother a baleful glare.

Harry stopped short and wheeled around.

"Was he – was that a joke?" he demanded. "Because if it was, I'll kill him!"

"No thanks," said Ron with a sheepish smile.

I hid my giggle out of respect for Harry's current disposition, and resorted to looking out at the stands. They were filled to capacity, no doubt because of the unusually warm autumn weather. But even the sunshine couldn't calm our captain, who'd been brooding over the other team's allegedly 'revolutionary' tactics since last night.

"Look, this match isn't to be taken lightly; I saw them practicing yesterday - the Slytherins. They're all in good shape, even Malfoy. That's why it's important that we fly tight today with as little deviating from formation as possible. I-"

"Teams to the pitch, please," boomed Madam Hooch's voice. "I repeat: teams to the pitch."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he was unrecognizably calm – so much so that it was contagious.

"Everything aside, you guys are brilliant. I couldn't have asked for better players. Truly. So let's show those snakes what a real game of Quidditch is all about!"

We hooted happily in response and hurried onto the pitch, where seven figures in emerald green robes were entering from the opposite end. Urquhart was leading them, looking bloodthirsty. As we lined up to mount our brooms, Malfoy gave my Cleansweep a pointed look and smirked. Urquhart quickly caught on to the joke.

"Nice broom, Zabini. Pretty sure I saw one of my house-elves use it to sweep."

"Funny, I could say the same thing about your hair," I said as I got onto it in one fluid motion, bat in hand. If we destroyed them fast enough, I'd still have time to ask Tonks about the difference between treating Doxy bites and Pixie bites…

Thirty minutes later, we were seventy points over the Slytherins, and at least thirty of those were thanks to me. Even Blaise was getting pissed enough to throw some elbows.

"Brilliant, Heidi!" shouted Harry as he sped past me to tail Malfoy. I had just sent a Bludger straight at Vaisey's broom, and it met its mark with a satisfying clack. Meanwhile, Malfoy had done a full circle, bringing him dangerously close to me.

"Watch yourself, Zabini. Wouldn't want to get thrown from that twig of yours," he called over his shoulder.

"You're the one who-"

I froze, lips parted. His sleeve had billowed back while he was making his veiled threats, and the sunlight had been at just the right angle to draw my eye to some sort of mar on his arm, too intricate to be a bruise. Malfoy hadn't noticed my hesitation, and sped away, leaving me halted in mid-air.

"Heidi, are you okay?" shouted Ginny.

But shock had narrowed my interests, and without thinking, I turned my broom away from the Bludger I was chasing and towards Malfoy. One by one, my teammates caught on to the fact that something was off. And one by one, they lost focus.

The time that Harry took to tell me to get back to my side of the pitch was the time that it took for Malfoy's hand to clasp around the Snitch. As it happened, I felt something collide with my broom fast and hard.

On my plummet to the ground, I saw a wave of kids in green burst into victorious screams. They chanted Malfoy's name as if they hadn't been throwing dirt on it just hours before, and I'd have laughed at the irony if it didn't feel like my back had shattered into a million pieces – and that was with Hooch's cushioning spell. My broom landed next to me in two parts, which might have been the only upside as far as Harry was concerned.

"What the hell happened back there, Heidi?" he demanded as he hovered over me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh, Merlin, Harry I am _so_ sorry." I was in tears, if only from the pain alone.

Harry's face softened.

"It's okay. Do you need Pomfrey?"

"She'll be fine," said Madam Hooch, as she pushed her way through to me; the rest of my team had zoomed in to interrogate me about my well-being, and in doing so, had formed a near-impenetrable circle. "Any pain in your head?" she asked.

I shook it.

"See any spots? Hear any ringing?"

"No."

"How many fingers?" she asked as she thrust her open hand in my face.

"Er … five."

"Good girl. Can you walk?"

I shrugged and slowly lifted myself up off the ground. I took three steps forward. "Guess so," I said, wincing through the pain.

Hooch nodded. "Excellent. You're fully intact. Though you should probably drop by the Hospital Wing for some Wiggenweld Potion." With that, she left to cater to the Slytherins, who were celebrating their win.

But one of them had broken away from the team to find me.

"What's the damage?" asked Blaise impatiently as he pushed through the crowd around me, which had grown to incorporate Neville, Hermione, Anthony and Hagrid.

"Just my broom."

He shook his head in vexation. "Mother better not pin this on me or I swear to Merlin…"

"Well don't tell her, genius!" I exclaimed.

He gave another scoff of irritation and left. Over Katie's shoulder, I saw Malfoy on the other side of the pitch, surrounded by a pack of Slytherin girls. The rest of his team, less successful in attracting their own harems, had resigned themselves to the changing rooms.

"You sure you're okay?" asked Neville, with a hand on my aching shoulder. I tried not to show the sharpness of my pain.

"Yeah. Yeah, you guys go on. I'd like to be by myself for a bit."

"It wasn't your fault," said Hermione quickly. "That broom's really out of shape. I'm not surprised you lost control of it. Please don't blame yourself."

She had clearly mistaken my intention to corner Malfoy alone for my need to ruminate over our failure.

"Hermione's right," said Harry. "It was about time."

"Ain't nuthin' good comin' out of tha Cleansweep name nowadays," said Hagrid. "Bunch o' branches charmed ter fly if yeh ask me."

I nodded.

"Thanks, you guys. I'll see you all later, okay?" I said, before my gaze went back to Malfoy. He was still outside, talking to his 'fans'. Either he was now dating about a thousand years out of his age range, or he was stalling so that he'd have the changing rooms to himself.

Slowly, the crowd around me dissolved, with Anthony (who had said nothing the entire time, but stared at me like I was an abandoned puppy he had found on his porch) being the last to go. I picked up my broom and, under pretense of trying to fix it, lingered. After what seemed like forever, the Slytherin team filed out of the locker rooms, and Malfoy separated himself from his groupies to go change. My heart began to pound. I had to see what was under that sleeve, but I could never take him on physically, and _Stupefying_ him from behind seemed too brutish. I needed a plan – a trick, maybe. And then it came to me.

I dropped the pieces of my broom and ran.

I caught him just as he finished pulling his shirt on, and silently cursed at the fact that he was already clothed – a first for me, I must admit.

_So Plan B it is._

"Hey, Malfoy," I said, trying to sound normal.

He wheeled around sharply, then breathed an obvious sigh of relief. "Really, Zabini? That desperate to catch a glimpse?"

I realized he had left his wand in the pocket of his Quidditch robes, which were on a nearby bench. Perfect.

"Uh-huh," I said distractedly, before it registered. "I mean no! I'm just here to congratulate you."

He raised a mistrustful eyebrow. "Congratulate me?"

"Well you won, didn't you?"

"Clearly and unsurprisingly," he said, smirking. "But I still don't see your point."

"Con…gra…tu…la…tions," I patronized, before smiling and sticking out my hand.

He looked down at it the way a person looks at a medical anomaly.

"You're such a drama queen, Malfoy. Just shake it," I said, hoping to Merlin I sounded innocent. "It's a gesture; it means I'm admitting you're good."

That, Malfoy couldn't resist.

The moment his left hand went into mine, I snapped into action and pushed up his sleeve with my other one. He couldn't throw me off fast enough for the damage to be evaded. There it was, open to be seen: a raw-looking tattoo of a snake in a skull.

He pushed me back so hard I nearly toppled over, but I knew his next move, and I was ready for it.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ I shouted, and the wand he had gone for soared into my hand.

We stayed there for infinity, gray eyes on blue, and I was surprised to feel a monstrous disappointment swell inside me.

"When?" I demanded.

"None of your fucking concern."

"Why?" I shot, just as quickly. "What could you possibly have hoped to achieve?"

"None of your fuc-"

"I thought things were getting better, Malfoy! I thought we were finally getting – and then you go and – oh you complete _idiot_. All this time, I…" I looked at him, aghast. "I defended you to _everyone_ , I thought Skeeter was being a complete _nutter_ and then you go and-"

"I didn't ask you to do shit, Zabini. That's on you," he warned, pointing at me threateningly. "Your bleeding heart, your problem."

"Malfoy, you have no idea what you got yourself into," I said quietly.

Faster than I could react, his hands were over my shoulders, nails digging in so hard it was all I could do not to whimper.

"Don't you dare tell me I don't know what this necessitates, Zabini, _don't you fucking dare!_ I'm not going to be judged by you of all people, with your perfect life, and your perfect parents, and your perfect friends. You haven't seen shit."

I squeezed my hands around his wrists just as hard, until he was forced to let me go. "You don't know what I've seen Malfoy," I said. "And if you want to keep respecting your father, I suggest you don't ask."

His face contorted into the coldest fury I'd seen on him yet. "If I were alone in a room with a Death Eater, I'd elaborate on that last one."

I laughed, though it was really to keep from crying. "Let's just say it didn't matter how many of my birthday parties he'd gone to, or how long he'd known my parents, or the fact that I begged. When push came to shove, that father of yours tried to kill me anyway. And if he could have, he would have."

Malfoy attempted to remain stoic, and it would have worked, had I not seen the nanosecond of discomfort flash across his face.

"I know," I said, voicing what I was sure he was thinking. "I thought the Zabinis' girl was off limits too."

He swallowed audibly and looked away. "Give me my wand."

"Or what? You'll call 'The Dark Lord' to kill me? Maybe you'll do it yourself. Go on, Malfoy. Merlin knows you've been waiting for the day."

I put my hands up in mock-surrender. I knew I was pushing it, pushing him, but he had to understand. This wasn't a game – these people dueled to kill, always and without exception.

"You can drop the heroics, Zabini," he said arrogantly. "Because I know you're afraid of dying whether you act like it or not."

"No, you idiot!" I spat. "Don't you get it? If anything, I'm afraid of killing!"

When he didn't make a move to hurt me, I threw him his wand.

"You haven't seen it in action yet, Malfoy, but you will. And I hope to Merlin you won't like it. Or I'm wrong about the shred of humanity I see in you."

Naïve as always, I turned to leave.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

My own wand went shooting into his hand faster than I could stop it. He grinned victoriously.

"Not so fun when it's you in the corner, is it? Now it's your turn to listen. You don't tell anyone what you just saw, you don't meddle in what you just saw, and you _definitely_ don't speak to me about my father." He touched his wand to the base of my throat, pushing just enough for an uncomfortable lump to rise in it. "Maybe I should do a little magic just to make sure."

I glared up at him. "Do what you want. But don't you dare think I'll beg you." I pushed myself into his wand just so he could hear me perfectly as I whispered. "Begging doesn't _work_ on you people."

He sneered at me. "What 'people'? Death Eaters?"

"Malfoys."

He looked down at my neck with lips parted, the gears in his head clearly turning. I could feel his mint-laced breaths bounce off my face; they missed a beat every now and then when he failed to keep his anticipation in check. I wondered if comparing him to his father had struck a nerve.

He gave me one last glance and retracted his wand, muttering offhandedly that I wasn't worth it.

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Over the next few days, Malfoy and I went through a complete and total regression. What little peace we had managed between us was taken over by an unendurable savagery. By the end of it, I couldn't even look at him, and to make it that much easier, he boycotted class completely.

The truth was that I couldn't look at him because every time I tried, I felt an inexplicable urge to cry. But Malfoy didn't know that. He had no idea how distraught and furious I was that Voldemort had finally taken one of ours. After all, Draco Malfoy was supposed to be the school's honorary Slytherin jerk, not someone I'd have to face in war; not someone I'd have to kill, lest he get me first. It had turned out to be a nearly unbearable truth, and I resolved to do everything I could not to bear it, starting with the most obvious solution: running from it entirely.

"I can't work with him anymore, Professor. I really can't," I pleaded.

"I understand your feelings. Yet I must ask the reason behind them," said Dumbledore.

"We're completely different, Sir."

He considered me with a sage smile. "On the surface, very much so."

"Not just on the surface, believe me," I insisted.

"Perhaps you could elaborate?"

I didn't know how, short of spelling out the fact that the kid signed up with the most evil wizard of our time. "We have … irreconcilable differences," I said finally, wondering vaguely where I'd heard that term used before.

The headmaster laughed. "Ah yes, that does get in the way of a union." He sighed pensively and looked at Fawkes. "And is this truly what you want?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," I said unhesitatingly.

"Then I have no choice. Come Sunday, I will grant your request."

"Sunday, Sir?" I asked.

"As Sunday is the day before Monday, it seems most appropriate to confirm changes for the school week on exactly that day." He pushed a bowl of sherbet lemons at me, and smiled. "But as luck would have it, today is only Friday."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure how that impacted anything.

"Alas, I was hoping you would grant me a final favour."

"Of course, Professor. Anything," I said, reaching for a sweet.

"Draco Malfoy is visiting his father in Azkaban tomorrow. I would like you to go with him."


	9. Words Less Awful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm here once more with yet another chapter! I sincerely hope you enjoy it, and appreciate all of you that have taken the time to read and otherwise interact with this story. Really makes my day!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Azkaban? With Malfoy? But … but what for?"

"For yourself," Dumbledore said. "This is Lucius' last scheduled visit before he is due to get the Kiss. If I am not mistaken, you have been stripped of your chance to tell him your views on his actions many times."

"Yes, but I don't _want_ to tell Lucius Malfoy my views on him, or on his actions," I asserted.

"You underestimate the value of closure, Miss Zabini."

Any discernable way out of this was slowly disappearing. I knew that no matter my argument, Dumbledore would find a way to refute it. Still, I tried.

"But isn't it a little invasive? I mean, it _is_ Malfoy's last chance to see his father. I'm quite probably the last person he'd want to have around."

Dumbledore considered this.

"You know, I have learned that sometimes it's necessary to invade; so long as you do it with respect."

This made no more sense than anything he usually said, and I could do nothing else but sit and try to decipher the meaning of these cryptic words.

"There is also the matter of safety – Draco's, not yours."

"What do you mean?"

"The Ministry are not such great fans of the Malfoys like they once were. With the Dementors so thirsty, it would not be surprising if the Ministry worker accompanying Draco turned a rather blind eye if something should happen," he explained solemnly. "However, if someone else were with him, I can guarantee that he would not be quite so negligent."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Oh, I know old Frank Kerrigan quite well – he's a good friend of Mundungus Fletcher's, actually. Wonderful Gobstones player, but a little lacking in common moral decency. You see, he has a certain habit of picking and choosing who to save more than he ought to, as Mister Malfoy learned last time."

But before I could ask for specifics, the office door slid open to let Malfoy in.

"Ah, there you are, Draco. Good evening."

Malfoy gave a miniscule nod and, once again, took a chair beside me. How many more times would we be called together behind the Headmaster's desk to do something completely mental?

"I apologize for taking so long to contemplate your request to visit your father. It was not a matter of if, but of how."

Malfoy said nothing.

"You are cleared to go tomorrow, as you had hoped."

"What's the catch? You made it rather clear that there would be one."

"I like to think of it as less of a catch, and more of a condition," said Dumbledore. "And that condition is that Heidi must come with you."

I waited for the eruption, silently hoping Malfoy would scream enough threats to put an end to this god-awful idea. Maybe this would finally be the day his mouth got me out of trouble instead of into it.

"Alright."

I turned straight to him. It was the first time we had made eye contact for at least five days, and that included the few times he was in class. _'Alright?_ ' I mouthed. If I looked anything like how I felt, then I did _not_ look good.

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. "You have learned how to cast a full-bodied Patronus, correct, Heidi?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Everyone in Dumbledore's Army learned how to do it."

The headmaster looked visibly touched. "Forgive me. I shall never get used to hearing that name, or cease feeling humbled by it, I must admit. I am so very proud of you all."

The statement made it infinitely harder to do what I wanted to: explain to him that under no circumstances, dead, alive, or possessed, would I ever go to Azkaban with Draco Malfoy _ever_.

"So we're allowed wands?" I asked, feeling somewhat relieved by this - albeit tiny - silver lining.

"No." It was Malfoy that said it. "Not in the visiting chamber. Only in the tunnels."

"What tunnels?"

"They take you underground so that you don't have to go past the prisoners. Zabini, you didn't think you could just walk through the front doors and say hello to society's finest did you?" he demanded, his voice full of condescension.

I shrugged, feeling a little bit ashamed. I had always assumed that was how it worked - mostly because life never forced me to know otherwise. The only prisoner I had ever mingled with had been one of the best men I knew, and a role model in my own ongoing rebellion against familial expectations. I had forgotten that Sirius' fellow inmates were people I was better off not walking past, or looking at, or knowing about.

Malfoy was looking like he very much wanted to trade me in for someone useful. But his sneering lips were firmly shut.

"Heidi, would you mind casting a Patronus?" asked Dumbledore, breaking through the silence.

"A Patronus? Right now?"

Dumbledore nodded.

I glanced uneasily at Malfoy, who quirked an eyebrow at me, clearly unconvinced. Well, I'd bloody show _him!_ I cleared my throat and raised my wand.

"Perhaps aim it away from Mister Malfoy," said Dumbledore.

I blushed and moved my wand away from the direction of Malfoy's chest and to an unoccupied corner of the room. "Sorry," I mumbled. "Habit, I guess…"

I shut my eyes and visualized the day I got sorted into Gryffindor.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver stream shot from my wand and rearranged itself into its corporeal form, which I hoped would disappear before anyone saw what it was. No such luck.

Dumbledore laughed heartily. "How marvelous! I should have known! A penguin!"

"Well don't I feel safe now," said Malfoy bitterly. "An obese bird that can't even fly."

"Patronuses don't need to fly, Malfoy," I chided.

"They need to do something other than waddle."

"Well what does yours do, then? Run away from the Dementors to fight the nearest First Year instead?" I snapped.

It felt right to squabble with him again after days of radio silence - like normality had been somehow reestablished. But it hadn't. As quickly as I had caught a glimpse of his old self, he went back to being unaffected by the provocations that once would have worked brilliantly.

That was how much he needed to say his goodbyes to his father.

Feeling somewhat ashamed of my obtuse childishness, I shut my mouth and sat back down.

"Very well, children. We have reached a consensus. You will meet tomorrow before sunrise to ride a carriage to Hogsmeade Station. The Hogwarts Express will be waiting there to take you to London, where you will travel to the Ministry by car. As I have already told Heidi, the man you are meeting is called Mr. Kerrigan. I believe you have already met him, Draco. He will be supervising you the entire time in Azkaban once more, as is customary with the Ministry."

"Should I write to my parents to let them know where I'll be?" I asked.

"The moment you say yes, I'll send an owl myself," said Dumbledore.

"And … if I say no?"

I looked at Malfoy out of the corner of my eye. He was staring tensely at the floor.

"Then I will have to cancel all arrangements for both of you."

I exhaled a weary breath. "No, don't do that; I'll go."

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Dawn came prematurely, I was sure. Someone who despised me must have had the sunrise rigged.

I tugged on a scuffed pair of boots, dull-looking jeans and a jumper, and made my way out to the dungeons, careful not to wake one of the girls. When I saw Malfoy, I knew immediately I had made a grave mistake in interpreting the dress code. He was clad for a funeral as always, but everything on him was immaculate, creaseless … perfect. He wore a thick black travelling cloak and gloves of dragon leather, and his hair, which was usually free to fall on his face, was smoothed carefully away. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought him a force to be reckoned with.

"Should I go change?" I asked uncertainly.

"There isn't time."

"But you're all … fancy," I remarked.

"Out of respect for my father. Are _you_ interested in paying him your respect?" he asked pointedly.

"Guess not," I mumbled.

"I didn't think so. So let's go."

I followed him out the doors, where a lone carriage was waiting for us. I muttered a hello at the Thestral guiding it. I had only been able to see them for a few months, and although they were in many ways hideous, I acknowledged them whenever I could. After all, there's nothing worse than being used but ignored.

"Who were you talking to? Just then?" demanded Malfoy as he climbed into the carriage after me.

I blinked at him. "The Thest…ral… wait, you _still_ can't see them?"

He scoffed. "What, you think you're better than me just because you can see some stupid death horse? Don't make me laugh."

"You're right, Malfoy. How silly of me to think that death had been in the job description."

He glared and adjusted his cloak. I was starting to regret not bringing one myself. As the carriage pulled away, a silence came over us that was as bitter and brittle as the chill in the air. Multiple times, I opened my mouth to say something he'd have cursed me for – like if the girls were enjoying his 'cool new tat' – but the way he was staring at the carriage floor convinced me he was contemplating something bigger than him, or me, or any petty thing I could say. So I kept quiet.

I hoped I was being discreet as I took him in, because looking away wasn't an option. I'd never seen him like this. He wasn't plotting; plotting made him smirk and boast with childish glee. No, he was planning, the way I'd seen my parents, or the Order, or Dumbledore do. Gone were the traces of childhood from his face. And gone was my self-assurance.

"Could I ask you something?"

My voice sounded much smaller than usual.

"No."

"Alright," I said, wilting back in my seat somewhat.

He took me in with obvious aggravation and, clearly against his usual judgment, asked me what I wanted.

"Oh, I was just wondering if there was a screen separating the visiting room. Or a window. Or, you know, some metal bars."

"No, it's an open room. Why?"

"So um … so he could reach out and … touch us? Theoretically?"

Malfoy must have realized what this was really about, because he let out a sharp breath. "Drop it, Zabini. No one's going to touch you."

"Oh." I let another stretch of silence trickle by. "And the Dementors, do they float around freely?"

"Only in some-"

"Which parts?"

"The cages, Zabini."

"Oh." Another silence. "And what are the ca-"

"Zabini, enough!" He cursed under his breath. "What are you, scared all of a sudden? No more Gryffindor lectures about bravery being the best protection? Scared of the Dementors, are you?"

I huddled into myself. "No," I muttered. "Not of the Dementors."

We rode the train in different compartments, in an unspoken agreement to deal with this alone. As the scenery outside became a blur of autumn hues, I felt my lids go heavy; worrying had worn me out. But the slumber I fell into wasn't peaceful.

_"_ _Never expected to be seeing you here, little Heidi Zabini."_

_I scrambled backwards, the glass of destroyed prophecies crunching under my feet. My wand was stuck under a shelf meters out of reach._

_"_ _Well, it looks like you'll be missing dinner at the Manor this month. A shame, really. But I'll give Narcissa your best."_

_"_ _P-please," I croaked, in a voice that seemed nothing like my own. "M-my parents. They don't know I'm h-here. Mister Malfoy,_ please _!"_

_His white face contorted into a sneer, rendered colder by the blue light of the room. Somewhere near me someone squirmed on the floor, but I didn't know if it was one of us or one of them._

_"_ _Your parents?" Lucius said quietly. "But you should have thought of your parents much sooner, instead of following Potter to whatever childish heroics he had planned."_

_He jerked his wand and it felt like something dull and hard hit my forehead, causing it to gash above my brow. I yelped in pain, my heart threating to split just like my forehead had. I had never been this afraid. All I could do was beg, until my whimpered and repeated 'pleases' had lost all meaning. And when they did, Lucius Malfoy began to raise his wand once more, and mutter the words that would end it._

_"_ _Avada-"_

_"_ _Come on, Zabini! Just get up!"_

_The voice, foreign though it was, had given me a brilliant idea._ Up _! All I had to do was get up! But as I tried, my body swung annoyingly back and forth, like the hands of some deity were rattling me awake._

_"_ _Stop it!" I yelled to no one. "I have to get up!"_

_I grabbed frenetically at the air above me, and when my hands had trapped what felt like a face, I opened my eyes to find that God was Draco Malfoy._

It took a moment for my brain to recouple with my body, and while I waited to gain control of my hands, they remained firmly around Malfoy's anxious face. Grabbing him must have caused him to lose his balance, for he was halfway on top of me, with one hand on the window for balance, and a knee in between my legs. In my delirium, I was relieved to find myself with him - another human - whose eyes were much less hardened than the ones in my nightmares, despite the blood ties that they shared.

"Alright, Zabini?" he asked warily, gently separating his face from my cold, sweaty hands.

I tried to laugh it off as nothing. "I – I don't usually – it's just because of today. I'm not like … like some kid with night terrors, or something."

He nodded dubiously.

"Really, Malfoy!"

Malfoy raised his hands. "Fine, Zabini, whatever. I don't really care either way. I'm just here to tell you we're at King's Cross."

"Oh."

I realized that the train was no longer moving, and that a packed station platform was visible out the window. I slipped out of the compartment, with Malfoy ahead of me.

"Malfoy, wait!" I called as he made his way off the train. I chewed on my lip, wondering how to voice the problems brewing inside. "I – I don't know how I'll act today. In front of him."

At least if I told him, it was fair warning.

I expected Malfoy to sneer and declare that his father was worth at least ten thousand of me, and that if I didn't act like it, I'd be rife with regret. Instead, he looked down at me, silently taking me in. I must have looked so idiotically weak, with my hair plastered to my forehead from the sweat of my nightmare, and my teeth chattering from my inability to dress for the weather.

"Act how you want, Zabini," he concluded with a shrug, before gesturing for me to keep up.

To anyone who didn't know the nature of a Malfoy, those words would have meant nothing. But I knew him. And those words had made whatever awful things lay ahead of us today that much less awful.


	10. The Ghost of the Regal Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I figured I’d get this one up now as I’ll be MIA for a few days before school starts up again. Thank you so, so much for reading, commenting, and all that wonderful stuff. 
> 
> I also apologize in advance (and I probably ought to have done this earlier) for any British-isms that I mess up. I’m actually Canadian, which leaves me trapped in a limbo where I spell the word ‘color’ with a u and yet don’t know how the hell degrees Fahrenheit work. But I am trying to stay loyal to the language the books were written in, even if I sound really stupid saying ‘arse’ in real life. ;)
> 
> ~ Anna =)

It wasn't hard to tell why Frank Kerrigan's specialty was Azkaban. He seemed like the perfect person to diminish a criminal's will to live before they even set foot near Dementors. As he loomed over us in the Ministry Atrium, looking very much like an _Engorgio-_ ed Goyle, I almost felt like I was walking to my own incarceration.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, as I stumbled over the hem of Malfoy's cloak.

"Personal bubble, Zabini," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

I had been subconsciously plastering myself to his side ever since I laid eyes on our 'tour guide', and although it had started off innocuously enough, I may as well have been living inside his cloak by the time we reached the security desk.

"Sorry," I whispered back, quietly enough for only him to hear. "It's just … I can feel him breathing on me."

"That's what he does. Get used to it."

I swallowed nervously and took my wand back from the wizard at the security desk. As we passed it, I went for the elevators out of habit, only to be redirected firmly by the elbow.

"Pay attention, would you?" snapped Malfoy. "I'm not going looking for you if you end up getting yourself lost in bloody Azkaban of all places."

We passed through six archways before ending up in a tiny room, barely fit for two. I was sandwiched uncomfortably between Malfoy and our lumbering escort, and once again found myself gravitating towards the former.

"Zabini," he breathed barely-discernibly into my ear, as the room began to move backwards.

"What, Malfoy?"

"You're … pressing into certain things."

I cringed and tried to move away, but judging by his growl of protest, it wasn't helping. And so I stayed pressed into 'things' for the entirety of the ride, until the moving room stopped.

Two things told me we'd reached the prison: the smell of filth and the sudden, crippling indifference I felt towards living. As the door opened to reveal a tunnel lit by torches of blue flame, I could barely push my legs to go onwards.

"Get it together and keep your wand out," hissed Malfoy as he nudged me forward. We were led through the tunnel by Kerrigan, who paused at every corner to check for Dementors.

"Barely any guards left," he said gruffly. "Guess they all left for greener pastures, kind of like your father tried to do. Only difference is he failed."

Malfoy sneered, but before he could think of doing something stupid with his wand, both mine and his flew out of our hands and into Kerrigan's.

"This'll be the room. Enjoy your goodbyes, kids."

I stood in front of a heavy door with a slit of metal bars at the top, through which only someone much taller than me could see.

"You're not coming?" I asked anxiously. It was the first time I'd spoken directly to him.

"Don't you worry, little lady; I have ears and eyes all over this place. Any funny business in that room means you and your boyfriend get thrown into the cell above it."

Malfoy scowled and turned to walk in, before his eyes slipped to mine. He stopped uneasily by the door. "Are you …?" The question seemed to stick in his throat, and I couldn't blame him; it was probably the first time in his life that he had thought to ask me it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I said, with my voice scratchy and my mouth parched.

Malfoy nodded mutely and pushed open the door to reveal a windowless room, with a table in the corner behind which his father sat. Or the remnants of him, anyway. He was almost worse than Skeeter had described him in her column. But even as his hair hung oily and limp, and the outline of a bad tattoo jutted from his neck (Prisoner 73027), Lucius Malfoy held his head like a king.

When he saw his son, he gave a small nod of pseudo-approval. And then he saw me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself grounded.

"Ah, little Heidi," he said softly; almost mockingly. "You've come to visit."

"Something like that," I replied, hoping the weakness in my voice was subtle.

He gestured to a chair, and I flinched from the suddenness of the motion. I saw Malfoy stiffen on my right and flicker his gaze between his father and me. He looked all too aware of the tension.

"Well have a seat, dear girl. Robert wouldn't be too impressed if I put his daughter through any sort of … discomfort."

Malfoy got up and mechanically pulled out a chair for me. I stared at him, staying stuck on the spot until he gave the tiniest nod of assurance.

"Very good, Draco," remarked his father. "We mustn't be rude to girls."

I'd sat at the same table as Lucius Malfoy many times, but never had I felt so drained. Somewhere inside me, I knew all I wanted was to go home. But that somewhere was buried under a deep desire to drop my head down and let the life seep out of me. After all, there was no _point_ to going home; there was no happiness at home … in fact, there was no happiness at all… but maybe death would do the trick. Maybe if I just lowered my head and waited, it would come …

Just as I began to yield to my drawn-out, anticlimactic demise, a rattling got me to look up. A hooded figure was swirling above a glowing barrier, occasionally trying to plunge through with its scabby hands. The sight of it reminded me to fight.

"You've been good to your mother, I hope," said Lucius, his attention now fully on his son.

"Yes, Father."

"And how is your … schooling coming along? You've been working hard?"

"Yes, Father."

"You must remember your deadlines at all times, Draco. They will creep up on you if you are not careful. If you need anything, Severus will help. He is … well-versed in the things that it takes to excel in this field."

I frowned as I listened. Since when was Snape a knowledgeable Healer?

But Malfoy seemed to understand the subtleties of this, for he once again said, "Yes, Father," before rotating to me. "I need a minute, Zabini."

"And where am I supposed to go?" I retorted.

"The other side of the chamber would be just fine," Lucius said cordially.

I curled my fingers into fists and stood up, swaying slightly on shaking knees. The visiting chamber was big enough that I heard nothing but muted whispers coming from the table on the other side of the room. I didn't know what the two Malfoys were talking about, and I didn't care. Dumbledore was wrong. There was nothing in this for me.

After what seemed like hours of back and forth whispers, with Kerrigan peering through the bars on the top of the door the whole time, and the Dementor above us swirling from corner to corner, Malfoy got up from the table and came over to me.

"Are we leaving?" I asked urgently, resisting the temptation to grab onto him for balance, and perhaps even some sick form of comfort.

"He wants to talk to you, Zabini," he said quietly, like he was waiting for an explosion on my end.

"What? Alone?"

Malfoy nodded. My stomach, which was already in all kinds of turmoil, plummeted faster.

"About wh-"

"I have no idea, Zabini," he said.

I swallowed down bile.

"Look … like I said before, I won't force you. But it sounds important."

"I see we're still holding a grudge, little Heidi," called Lucius from the table. "I must say I find it rather childish."

I clenched my fists and stalked over to him, leaving Malfoy in the corner.

"Come, now, I'm giving you a chance to realign yourself with the correct side," said Lucius softly as I sat down. "Our little hiccough last year was … unfortunate. I apologize if I scared you."

"Scared me? You tried to _kill_ me!"

His eyes darkened. "Do not make a scene in front of my son. What happened last year was nothing personal. I suggest you treat it as such."

I sprang from the chair, seeing nothing but red.

"Oh, no, Mr. Malfoy. It was _very_ personal," I said, gripping the back of the chair to keep from falling. The fact that I felt anything through the numbing effects of Dementors was a short-lived miracle. As I backed away with a stumble, the miracle faded.

Malfoy was waiting for me, looking steady on his feet.

"C-can we please go?" I said, shivering violently and not bothering to hide it. "P-please, Malfoy, I've … I've had enough."

He sighed. "Yeah, Zabini, alright. I just need one second."

Malfoy strode over to his father, who got up at the sight of his son. Without warning, the two locked into a hug. I felt like I was watching something from a parallel universe; a hallucination perhaps, or some statistically impossible otherworldly event. Surely Draco and Lucius Malfoy wouldn't _hug_ to say goodbye. It was so … normal.

Only when they let go did I release the breath I was holding. And with the breath left a little bit – the _tiniest_ bit – of my resentment towards Lucius Malfoy. As twisted and callous as the man was, he cared for his son. And that was better than nothing.

I wondered if this was what Dumbledore had given the grand title of 'closure'.

"Don't you have something to say to me, Heidi?" drawled Lucius as he took notice of me once more.

"Uh … I …"

All of the things I wanted to spew at him, all of the pent-up anger that I swore I would unleash the next time I saw him, stayed firmly locked inside. Because as Lucius was looking expectantly at me, Malfoy was looking tensely at him as if he was trying to make sure he wouldn't forget his own flesh and blood when he left. Who was I to encroach on an already crumbling family portrait? I was just a girl with a grudge.

I cleared my throat.

"Good luck, Mister Malfoy."

Malfoy looked at me with a raised eyebrow, while his father smirked.

"Oh, I won't be needing it. But thank you."

Suddenly, the barrier between the Dementor and us dropped. I watched in apprehension as the creature glided smoothly to the floor. It moved on Lucius Malfoy at first, then raised its hooded head like a wolf sniffing the air for prey. I must have changed its mind.

A hollow wail travelled through my ears, growing and growing as it settled in my head. I squeezed my hands over my ears, but it was fruitless; the sound was coming from within me. The creature made me watch it all – everything I didn't ever want to see again. I watched Hermione tumble down, cursed by a Death Eater. I saw Neville with his bloody nose, felt my dismay that this was how I would remember my friends: broken and bloody. I heard my prayer to my parents, and witnessed death – my very first death – as Sirius fell through the veil. And when it stopped, I found myself surrounded once more by the smell of spiced Amber.

"Mwfy," I mumbled.

"Zabini, you're drooling on my cloak."

I ran a clammy hand over my mouth and realized he was right. I lifted my head from his shoulder. My eyes ached from blinding sunlight. We were on a street bench, though which street was beyond me.

"Wh…where…?"

" _Muggle_ London," he said in disdain. He looked at me and snorted. "What an absolute genius our Headmaster is, wouldn't you agree? I mean, of all possible people he could have gotten to accompany me, he enlisted the fainting wonder. I swear, you and Potter-"

"Malfoy, you're all puffy and red. Have you been …?"

" _No_ , Zabini, I have not 'been' anything. If I'm red it's because you weigh about a thousand pounds and that Ministry dunce was too busy trying to produce a Patronus to help lug you out of prison."

"Why didn't you just cast a spell to levitate me?"

"No magic outside of school," he mumbled bitterly, wiping his nose with the back of his leather glove.

I blinked at him deliriously, then announced my need for chocolate.

"Are you bloody kidding me? Did you not hear me tell you that you weigh a million-"

"Don't exaggerate, Malfoy: you said thousand. And how can you be that weak anyway? You play Quidditch for Merlin's sake."

"Used to," he muttered.

"What?"

"I quit the team."

" _Why!_ " I gasped.

"Well, after how stunningly well the last match went for me, I decided I couldn't take any more risks."

"That was reckless of you, you know. Flying when you knew you had that thing on your forearm," I said.

"Won't be a problem now. Harper's flying for me in the next match. Thankfully, that was pretty much the last thing I even remotely enjoyed doing."

I frowned.

"How is that good, Malfoy?"

"Nothing left to lose now, is there?" he said with a shrug.

Something in my heart dropped for him.

"That is incredibly depressing."

He turned to me with a half-smirk.

"What can I say, Zabini? I am incredibly depressed."

I didn't have it in me to laugh at that, and he exchanged his half-smirk for a burdened grimace too. Before I realized what I was doing, I reached out my arm and, very stiffly, patted him on the head.

"Zabini, what are you…"

"There, there."

"I'm not a cat!" he snapped.

"Oh, I would never touch a cat," I remarked as I continued patting him.

He flinched. "I dunno how you think this feels, but it doesn't feel good."

I grinned at him as he caught my hand and threw it off in mild annoyance.

"We should get chocolate," I suggested.

"From where? We have to be at King's Cross in an hour. That imbecile won't be taking us back. Told us to walk the whole way."

I shrugged mock-innocently. "Oh, I dunno … maybe that place-"

"No-"

"That we snuck off to-"

" _No_ -"

"In the summer of second year, when you took a momentary break from being a prat."

"Zabini, that's a Muggle chocolate shop," he said with a disgust-laden voice. "I only went there out of sheer desperation. I mean, they had us in a museum of all places; I was twelve and momentarily insane from the boredom."

I sighed sharply and annoyingly. "But you're in Muggle London _now_ ; you may as well get Muggle chocolate. And anyway, you just came in contact with a Dementor. You need it for your health."

"What happened to you not caring about my health because I'm 'one of them' now? That was nice, Zabini, let's go back to it."

"I never told anyone. Just so you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'd give you a prize, but I'm thinking that had more to do with the fact that I'd have killed you if you did."

"Look, I'll keep it quiet as long as it's just … just an ugly tattoo you got. But the minute someone gets hurt, Malfoy, I don't care if you kill me or not," I declared.

"Alright, Zabini," he said with an unaffected shrug.

"I'm not done!"

He gestured dramatically for me to continue, then crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. I cleared my throat.

"I just want you to know, Malfoy, that I refuse to raise my wand against you in battle. On principle."

"…Huh?"

"It's what he wants," I continued, feeling the beginnings of a long-held-back rant. "And I _won't_ do it."

"What are you going on about now, Zabini?" Malfoy drawled.

"Voldemort, Malfoy! I'm going on about Voldemort!" I exclaimed, ignoring his flinch. A couple of passing Muggles turned back to look at us. "Haven't you thought about what any of this means for us?"

He crossed his arms, nostrils flaring. "I'm sorry, Zabini. Between putting my mother in rehab and trying to get my father out of prison, I must have forgotten to consider how my choices would affect that other Zabini. You know, the extra one that I barely talk to and don't at all care about."

"I'm not an 'extra Zabini'! I'm the directly involved Zabini who now has to keep a massive secret from everyone she loves so that some Slytherin git comes out of this alive! So cooperate, would you?" I huffed.

He rolled his eyes and, upon realizing I wouldn't take no for an answer, yielded.

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Twenty minutes later, we were back on the same bench with a box of chocolate truffles each.

"I asked my father about what you said he did," Malfoy began, taking a bite of a truffle so dark it looked to be pure cocoa.

"Did he admit it?"

"It doesn't matter," he said unwaveringly.

"No, I guess it doesn't," I admitted, brushing chocolate dust off my hands.

"It does leave me with one question though: why the _hell_ are your parents still friends with mine?"

I snorted. "Beats me, Malfoy."

"I'm serious, Zabini. I need to understand."

I sighed and put my box down.

"They're still friends because I didn't tell them that it had been your father. I told them it was a Death Eater I didn't know. What I did was hard enough on them, I didn't want them to feel guilty. I should never have been there that night."

He nodded. "Makes sense."

I went back to my box of truffles, only to discover a pale hand already in it. I slapped it away, like I'd done over three years ago.

"Mine are disgusting. They're burning my mouth," he explained, reaching for them once more. I moved them away.

"I _told_ you not to get the ones with chili pepper, didn't I? And then you argued with me for ten minutes even though I was the one nice enough to buy you chocolate with the last of my Muggle money. Well now you made your bed, Malfoy, so lie in it."

He rolled his eyes. "It's chocolate."

"No, it's a symbol of all your bad decisions," I nagged. I paused to think for a moment. "Hey, Malfoy, does your father know that I'm aware of your … leanings … in the war?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Of course not. If he did, he'd have…"

"He'd have what?"

Malfoy looked at me seriously. "Well, Zabini … I think he'd have wanted you dead."

And because no one we knew was there to watch us, and because we were both cold and tired and sick of the depression that had slowly crept in, we let ourselves laugh at the absurdity of it all.

 


	11. In Green, In Red, In Common

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Another update for you. As always, thanks very much for taking the time out of your busy day to read, comment, etc. It really makes my day! Alas, the school year (and my last year of uni) is upon us . Shouldn’t get in the way of my upload schedule too much, however! 
> 
> Hope all those of you that have started school already are settling in nicely!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

Even on the train back to Hogwarts, Malfoy and I were still under the same silent agreement to deal with all of this alone. The only difference was that we were now doing it in the same compartment; combined isolation was, at the very least, better than complete isolation. But I still had no idea how we lasted for hours without a word. The silence was eating me alive.

"I see Hogsmeade," he said suddenly, his voice slightly scratchy from non-use.

I turned to look out the window, where the brick chimneys of the station were puffing smoke into the sky. It was over, I realized, as I looked at the familiar burgundy sign bearing the village name. We were back. We would wake up tomorrow, in green or in red, and once again act as if we had nothing in common – not even a visit to hell.

As he began to stand, I broke.

"Malfoy, I think we need to talk about-"

"You're right, Zabini," he said, surprisingly pre-defeated before I even had a chance to harass him, "we need to."

I sighed in relief. "Thank Merlin. I really need help making sense of what we just-"

"We need to set up rules, Zabini. Ground rules. Because I'm not anybody's mother, lover, or therapist."

I blinked in confusion and resisted the urge to remind him that I'd seen him with at least a dozen girls just last year.

"I know how emotional you lion freaks get when you see something from the real world," he said with disdain. "You don't speak to anybody about where you were or what you saw. Not a soul, Zabini, got it?"

I was still reeling from the change in tone.

"Uh … why?"

His nostrils flared.

"Because what you saw is _private_. It's between me and my father."

"Malfoy, you know I can't not-"

"You _can_ not. It's called self-restraint. Get some."

"Well can I at least talk to _you_ about it?" I asked.

Malfoy gave me a look that told me the answer immediately.

"Fine," I said, trying and failing not to spill my resentment into the air. "Then you have to promise me something."

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, skip it, Malfoy, would you? Yes, I'm asking you for something. 'How outrageous, how unheard of, who do I think I am' – blah, blah, blah," I said emotionlessly.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Spit it out."

"Promise me you'll come to class. No more skipping, no more leaving me with random partners like some sort of orphan bouncing from family to family. This is a partnered program. You are my partner. I need you."

He gave me a long, tension filled silence, before ever-so-faintly saying 'fine' – Malfoy's version of a promise. And he followed through. For exactly two school days.

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It happened slowly, like festering rot. First, I could only get six hours a night … then five … then four. Then, sleep became a word I used when I meant 'succumbing to images of personal terror'. But at least – at the _very_ least – Azkaban hadn't taken my appetite. Only my ability to feel any kind of peace.

"You coming to breakfast, Heidi?"

I peeled my eyes open just to have sunlight invade them.

"Breakfast? Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

"You didn't get a wink of sleep either, did you?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"I did towards dawn," I admitted.

"Oh, you're lucky. That was when the rest of the girls got woken up. Screaming from beyond the walls again. Thought it was one of the boys at first, but they were all fast asleep."

I ran my fingers over my swollen eyelids and conjured some water into my hands with my wand.

"What do you think it was, then?" I asked, letting the cool water ease the burn of my lids.

"I'm thinking it was some ghost causing a disturbance for fun. Maybe Myrtle's in the pipes again," she suggested.

"I thought the voice was male."

Hermione smiled. "You'd be surprised at her vocal range."

"Myrtle's dysfunctions are hardly surprising," I remarked as I tugged my uniform on. My already frazzled ponytail bobbed stupidly with the motions. I groaned and yanked out my hair tie. In a gilded mirror, I noticed Hermione observing me.

"You're very stressed," she blurted. "Ron and Harry see it, too. Ever since that day that you said you spent studying alone."

I swallowed my nervousness and tried not to give anything away.

"Oh."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Did I want to _talk_ about it? The words had been clawing their way up my throat for three days minimum – a full narrative on my adventures in Azkaban, complete with Malfoy insanity. And yet, they wouldn't budge from that spot below my neck where anxious lumps always formed and stayed.

"I think I'd just like breakfast."

Looking defeated, my friend nodded her head and accompanied me out to the dungeon hallway.

A familiar figure rounded the corner from where I knew the Slytherin common room lay. He halted when he saw me and gave a particularly savage growl. Before I knew it, a piece of parchment was flying at my chest.

"Blaise!" I squeaked, catching the paper weapon just in time.

"Get your own damn owl!" snarled my normally placid brother. "I don't need to read a letter from Mother advising you on your 'menstrual' anything!"

Hermione gave me yet another anxious look and stepped away to give us space.

"By the looks of it, you're the one she was trying to advise on 'menstrual somethings'," I said in aggravation. "What is _wrong_ with you this morning?"

"Don't ask me that as if you look any better. You and Granger decide on matching hairstyles today?"

"Hey, I'm not the one throwing letters like boomerangs!" I snapped. "And what's with the tone? What are you, Malfoy's stand-in now? You sound just like him."

"Funny you should mention that piece of shit."

"It's tru – wait, _what?_ " I turned to see if Hermione had heard what I'd heard, but she was already gone. "He's your best friend, Blaise."

"He's not my best anything. He's losing his damn mind, that's what he's doing. You know what I woke up to? That crazy bastard ripping the dorm room apart!" he exclaimed.

I'd never seen my brother so ablaze. The damage done must have been extensive.

"What do you mean 'ripping it apart'?" I asked.

"I mean taking his little grey pillows and his little green bedsheets, walking across the room, and _fucking throwing them into the fireplace._ That is what I mean," he said, gesturing wildly in the most off-putting improv I'd seen in a while. "But that's not all of it."

I gulped nervously. "It isn't?"

"No. It isn't. Because once he got to his mattress, he knocked into Crabbe's dresser trying to pull it off the bed."

"So he threw that into the fire instead?" I groaned.

"Nah. Just the top drawer."

I breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing Malfoy needed was a gargantuan teak dresser falling on top of him.

"Which just so happened to be the underwear drawer. That pale-nosed git burned Crabbe's full-year supply of underwear."

"Why didn't anybody stop him?" I gasped, before his actions had actually registered.

"I was the only one in there! Nott snuck off with Tracey, and Crabbe and Goyle were sleeping in the kitchens again. You think I can restrain him when he goes off-the-wall like that?"

Blaise cursed and shook his head.

"I'll try talking to him if I see him in class," I suggested.

" _Talking_ to him? I don't want you going anywhere near him! The man's a lunatic; even Pansy won't sit beside him anymore. Thank Merlin that he's stopped coming to meals so no one has to deal with it."

"Friendship really is a beautiful thing," I said sarcastically.

"We'll see how close you stay with any of _your_ friends if they force you into seeing Vincent Crabbe's bits every morning for a month," Blaise shot back.

"What, he can't just buy new underwear like all the normal people?"

"He's one-quarter troll. His mother gets it custom made from Greece. It takes like a week to finish one pair, let alone thirty."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing and made a mental note to mock Malfoy over this for the rest of his life.

"Maybe you should get him a loincloth, then."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Tablecloth, more like it. Anyway, I'm going into the Hall for breakfast. Don't walk too close to me, or it'll look like we associate."

"We shared a womb, you know that right?" I said.

"So? Potions is cancelled by the way. Snape told us he wasn't coming in today, and he's the only professor that knows how to brew Blindwater."

I nodded and stepped to the side to open the letter. I scanned it quickly.

Veiled criticisms regarding my non-existent love life: check. A plea for me to stop wearing orange because it clashes with my facial structure: check. An update on my father: surprisingly absent.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"We aren't friends, Zabini."

I looked at the breakfast pastry I brought him, pretending to carefully analyze it.

"Oh, thank god!" I said dramatically, putting my hand over my heart. "For a second there I was afraid I'd brought you a friendship bracelet, but it turns out it's just a croissant."

Malfoy scowled and grabbed the plate out of my hands. I took a seat next to him on what I would from then-on call his sulking ledge, and waited for him to say something. Of course, he chewed as slowly as he possibly could so he wouldn't have to.

"What's going on, Malfoy?"

"With?" he mumbled.

"With you. Blaise said he found you tearing the dorm room apart this morning."

Malfoy's nostrils flared.

"Your brother's full of shit."

"Now why is he taking over the title that you so lovingly gave to me, Malfoy?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

He glared at me. He wasn't in the mood for jokes, evidently. It wasn't hard to see why. The dark circles under his eyes had grown.

I cleared my throat.

"You know, if you need someone to…to talk to-"

"Let me assure you, I don't," he snapped.

"Well it's just … it would make sense, wouldn't it? To talk to me? I mean, I was there."

He growled and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I bloody knew this would happen."

I frowned.

"Knew what would happen?"

"You'd stick your nose into every damn thing, thinking you had a right to because now you're 'involved'. Well, you aren't," he said pretentiously.

I snorted. "Oh, sure, let me just go back in time and un-involve myself."

He sent the plate down to the floor so hard it was a miracle it didn't smash to bits.

"Malfoy!" I exclaimed, throwing my foot out of the way. "What the hell is wrong with you!"

"Zabini, I haven't slept for seventy-four hours and counting," he said, dangerously on edge. "You _don't_ want to test me right now."

I sprang up.

"Don't you dare threaten me! You don't get to treat me like garbage after everything I've-"

He got up, too, his eyes narrowed.

"Did I stutter when I said it or are you just deaf? We're _not friends._ I'd rather die than associate with-"

"So where are they?" I said calmly. The edge in my face dropped, and the change of tone must have left him confused.

"Who?" he asked cautiously.

"Those 'friends' of yours that you fought so hard to keep. You know, the ones that you ridiculed me all these years to appease? Where's Blaise? Where's your _girlfriend_ of all people?"

"Shut up, Zab-"

"Why don't they look at you anymore?"

"You don't know what you're-"

"Is it because they know what you are, and want to avoid you like the plague? Or is it because they think you're just going off your rocker, like Skeeter predicted you would?"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he roared. "YOU DON'T GET TO ACT LIKE AN EXPERT ON _MY_ LIFE, AND _MY_ FRIENDS, AND _MY_ SANITY!

I flinched as the hotness of his words knocked into my cheek. An unlucky straggler in the corridor jumped and ran at the sound, not bothering to turn around and see where it had come from. After a moment of his heavy breathing, I let my shoulders drop.

"Did that help?" I asked sheepishly.

"What?" he said with mild annoyance. He seemed to have simmered down in a matter of seconds.

"Letting it out."

" _What?_ " he seethed.

I shrugged with a small smile.

"You looked a little tense. I figured I'd let you take the edge off, just this once."

He looked around wildly, probably convinced that one of my friends would pop out and say 'April Fools!' in October. When nobody did, he looked back to me.

"So you've taken it upon yourself to stand around and let people scream at you like some Hufflepuff?"

"No, not 'people' – just you."

"That's a dangerous game to play, Zabini," he said with the ghost of a smirk.

"I seem to live on the edge whenever you're involved," I remarked dryly.

Malfoy gave a quiet snort and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.

"Whatever you say. I'll see you Monday."

"Monday?" I asked. "What the hell do you mean 'Monday'? We have Charms class in an hour now that Potions got cancelled. I came to drag you there, in fact."

He rubbed his eternally bloodshot silver eyes.

"Zabini, I'm not going and you know it. So why don't you scurry off to nag Scarhead and Sidekick, and let me be?"

"But why aren't you going?" I demanded.

"Because I'd rather die."

I crossed my arms. "You'd rather die than do a lot of things today, by the looks of it."

"Your lucky day," he sighed. "As I said, Zabini, I'll-"

"Could I maybe come with you, then?" I asked. My words surprised the both of us, it seemed.

" _Excuse me?_ "

"I um … I haven't been feeling so well either, truth be told. And since you're not going to class, there's hardly a point to having me go. They'll just put me with Terry and Anthony, but you're the one my grades depend on anyway so it's really rather pointless. Right?"

I looked at him hopefully. He appraised me for all of one second before murmuring his favourite dirty word.

"You're clingy as shit, you know that?"

"I humbly disagree. Was that a yes by the way?"

"Where's Granger? Can't she be the one to pet you and tell you you're good enough, or whatever?" he asked impatiently. If I said that didn't sting, I'd be lying.

"Hermione's in class, and so are Harry and Ron," I explained, my cheeks growing warm from the unsubtle rejection. "It's okay, Malfoy, I get it. It was a longshot anyway."

I gave him a tense but civil nod and turned to walk away, as I should have done in the first place.

"Fine."

"What?"

"Just don't get in my way and don't bring me any more jam-slathered food."

I shook my head. "Really, we don't have to, Malfoy. It was a stupid idea-"

"You _said_ you wanted the company," he snapped irascibly.

"Yeah, but it was a dumb-"

"As you can clearly see, Zabini, I am _absolutely_ fine alone. So I'm really only offering because your _incessant_ begging for my presence is throwing me completely off."

He looked at me pointedly, as if waiting for something. And then I understood.

"Oh! Er … please, Malfoy, would you spend time with me. I am … begging incessantly for your presence."

He crossed his arms.

"Fine, Zabini, if you insist."

I smiled slightly and set off towards the library. It wasn't until I was being yanked unceremoniously up the stairs that I realized Malfoy had other study plans entirely.

"Aren't we going to the library?"

"No," he said curtly.

I waited for him to fill me in; I was left waiting a long time. Only when we reached the seventh floor corridor did his idea become evident.

"Why the Room of Requirement?" I asked.

"I thought you wanted to come with me."

I blinked. "Well, I do but … but why the Room of Requirement?"

"None of the teachers go in there," he said. He looked at me to see some sign of understanding, and, judging by his eye-roll, didn't find a single one. "It means no one will catch us missing class. Wouldn't want you to get another detention because of me, Useless Zabini. Don't know how I'd live with myself."

"Oh, I believe that," I quipped.

I stepped in front of him, convinced that he needed me to show him the way in, only to find the blank wall turning to wood without my help.

"I didn't know you knew how to get in," I said.

"Ten points for me," he drawled, stepping into the musty room. "And one for you for telling me the password."

"I never told you the password."

"No, but you showed me the password," he said, as if it was obvious. "When you were looking for that Beater's bat of yours. I saw you pacing and muttering."

"But how did you know what to mutter?" I asked, dropping my schoolbag on a nearby table while having a very bad feeling about all of this. I had heard my friends mention on many occasions that the most redeeming quality of this place was that 'gits like Malfoy didn't know how to get in'.

"This isn't Ravenclaw Tower. Not exactly hard to say 'I need to get in here' to yourself three times over. Anyway, are we here to study or not? Where's your wand?"

In response, I tipped over my schoolbag and sent an infinity of parchment, quills and muggle coins tumbling out. I knelt down and began sifting through it, while Malfoy took his place on a weird-looking vinyl couch.

"Found it," I said as I extracted my hand from the rubble of my school career, my fingers around the wand. "What do you want to do first? Tooth charms or that really weird spell that Tonks taught us that makes you vomit?"

"Neither. We're brewing Draught of Living Death," he said.

"Oh, we're not being tested on that one; we haven't even learned it yet. That's next month."

"Well I need to brew it anyway."

I raised my eyebrow at his persistence, and quickly realized what was causing it.

"Are you insane? I'm not brewing you under-the-table potions for your health problems!" I spluttered.

"Thought you Gryffindorks were all about helping."

"'Helping'? Helping is taking down notes for classes you miss, or bringing you food when you can't make it to a meal! Helping is not brewing a ridiculously advanced potion, getting it wrong, and poisoning you." I shook my head and grabbed his arm. "Come on."

Malfoy, being ten times stronger than me when wands weren't in use, dug his feet firmly into the floor.

"Come where?"

"The hospital wing," I said defiantly.

"You know, that's even stupider than your usual jokes," he scoffed, freeing himself from my grip.

"Where are you going?" I called after him as he stalked through the towers of junk.

"I think I saw a bottle of it in here the other day. Of course, it was from 1959, but hey - who's counting?" he said resentfully.

I rushed after him before he swallowed something that would be less dream-invoking and more hallucination-inducing.

"Malfoy, is this where you've been hiding these past few days?" I asked incredulously as I watched him toss aside a plaque depicting the Five Principled Exceptions to Gamp's Law.

"I haven't been hiding," he snapped over his shoulder. "I've been … busy."

"Too busy to keep a promise, clearly," I muttered.

I could see his nostrils flaring, and fully expected to be thrown out of the room I helped him discover in the first place. Instead, he crossed his arms and marched back to the sky-blue couch.

"What are you…?"

"You want to study? Fine. We'll study."

I observed him cautiously for a moment, then settled into a broken velvet armchair across from him. I reached for my Charms book and found the chapter on tooth charms, which I had practiced relentlessly.

"Give me your mouth," I requested.

"You are absolutely not practicing on my teeth."

"Why!" I whined.

"Because if I wanted to look like Granger, I'd drink Polyjuice Potion," Malfoy said.

"We're going to fail our practical exam if you don't start cooperating."

Malfoy scowled and crossed his arms.

"You're not touching my mouth, Zabini."

"But I know all the steps!" I insisted.

"List them."

"What?"

"List the steps. No book, just memory."

I waved him away. "Don't be daft. How would you even know the steps when you skipped all the classes?"

"Try me and find out," he said with a smirk.

I sighed and slammed my Charms textbook shut.

"Fine. First, I administer a numbing potion with a five millilitre dropper onto the gums around the tooth in question. Then, with my wand tracing a U-shape in the air no further than five centimeters from said tooth, I-"

"Start to ugly-cry, because Flitwick just failed you on the exam that you were so sure you knew by heart," he said arrogantly.

"What? No I didn't! It's a five millilitre dropper for toothwork. If you're thinking of the ten millilitre one, that's for Herbology. See, I _told_ you to come to class!"

"I'm not talking about the dropper, genius. I'm talking about the fact that you didn't soften the enamel before muttering your little spell. You'd have cracked every part of that tooth trying to enlarge it. And it's twelve milliliters for Herbology."

He smirked infuriatingly while I realized, after flipping through Charms for Good Health (Level 1), that Malfoy was nowhere near as stupid as I'd have liked him to be.

"But – but you skipped every one of those classes. I went to all of them, sat through them to the end, practiced on every tooth I could find. Anthony didn't even correct me once!" I covered my mouth in horror. "Oh my god, is this why he wouldn't smile at me the whole day after? Because I cracked his teeth?"

"No, I expect that was because the sight of you makes most people miserable."

But I was too busy wrapping my head around my complete incompetence to feel wounded by his remark.

"Malfoy, what am I going to do? I'm going to fail. I mean really, _really_ fail this time."

I looked at him piteously, only to find him glaring back.

"Yeah, Zabini. Let's talk about the consequences of failure. I suppose the teachers will get utterly furious if you get anything below an O. Let's just pray none of them kill you and your whole family for underperforming."

I softened.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like how it sounded. I'm not trying to take away from what's happening with you." And then, for lack of any way to cut the tension, I gave him a clichéd and entirely unhelpful line: "It isn't your fault."

He narrowed his eyes.

"I am going to say this exactly one time: it is _very much_ my fault. All of this is. I took the Mark willingly so I could serve in lieu of my father and that is precisely – no, close your mouth and listen for once, Zabini – that is _precisely_ what I did. So don't you dare paint me like some sort of innocent idiot stumbling into something without mulling it over for weeks upon weeks upon weeks."

"Even I don't think that lowly of you, Malfoy," I said regretfully. "Just so you know."

Not wanting to play on his already-frayed nerves any longer, I went back to my Charms book.

"Then what do you think of me?"

I looked up in mild surprise. I hadn't realized that he was aiming for a conversation, not a one-sided rant. I thought about the best way to phrase my answer.

"I'm guessing you want this to be honest, so I do have to point out that you're sort of a massive jerk." I paused to wait for an insult, but none came. "But you're also very smart. And I guess that's one of the things that makes this such a huge waste."

He nodded without saying anything, and I took it as a cue to continue reading my textbook.

"I'm not so sure I'll be here next year."

"You mean school?"

He licked his lips nervously. "Never mind."

My heart dropped.

"You don't mean school," I said with quickly-growing dread.

"No. I don't mean school."

"Why, Malfoy? Why are you saying that? Are you already in trouble with him?" I asked hurriedly.

"Leave it. I shouldn't have said anything."

"We'll go to Dumbledore! He can fix whatever it is, I know he can. I promise."

"I said leave it!" he snarled.

"And wait for you to be murdered in your bed?" I shrieked back.

I was aware that my voice had given off the impression that I was somehow emotionally involved in Malfoy's fate. And perhaps, to some degree, I was.

"You are not dying for that psychopathic scum," I said with conviction. "There has to be something someone can do - something _I_ can do."

"For the Dark Lord?" he chortled.

"No, you dimwit. For you."

He looked nothing short of stunned at the emotions I was displaying on his account.

"I … I guess I'll think about - no, Zabini, hang on," he said, shaking himself off. "What is wrong with you? Why are you being all …" He struggled to accurately describe my current disposition, and settled on 'heroic'.

"Not wanting to see you dead doesn't make me heroic, Malfoy," I said matter-of-factly. "I mean forgive me for being unable to watch a classmate single-handedly self-destruct. It isn't like we're strangers."

"It isn't like we're friends," he countered.

I shrugged.

"Doesn't bother me. You'd be a rubbish friend anyway."

"And you're an irritating, neurotic cry-baby whose presence in high society makes no sense."

"My god, Malfoy, you are so repetitive today. I get it, you get it, hell, wizards on the other side of the world probably get it: _we don't get along_. Now stop being a prat and tell me how to help you, because you clearly need someone to keep you from making more underwear bonfires."

"Just keep driving me nuts," he said under his breath.

I froze. "What?"

"The more you drive me insane, the saner I seem to become," he admitted through gritted teeth.

"Done!" I said with a triumphant grin.

He nodded unsmilingly and picked up a set of notes I had taken down for him the day before, but ultimately withheld to punish him for being a flake.

"So I guess it's settled," I said.

"Guess so, Zabini."

"Great." I leapt towards him on the couch. "Now give me your mouth."


	12. The Disposable Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you’re all doing super well. I’ve got another update for you today. As always, feel free to let me know what you thought! 
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Five."

"Plus fifteen."

"Malfoy, there are _not_ twenty different ways to heal a broken nose with magic."

"Well then how many are there?" he asked with a dash of falsified innocence.

I sighed with such ferocity that he froze with a fork full of shepherd's pie halfway to his mouth.

" _Five_."

He smirked and finished his meal.

"Well then what about the sixth?" he asked as he brought a napkin to his mouth and blotted nonchalantly.

I thought about this and cursed.

"You're right, there are definitely more than five."

He put his plate on the floor beside the blue vinyl couch that he had taken to occupying, and watched it vanish.

"There are seven – three spells, two potions, and two plants."

"Then why would you say twenty?" I snapped, still sore over being proved wrong. For the past few days that we had studied together, it was me that had been getting the better of him. This shift was entirely unwelcome.

"Well, at first it was to get you to try to remember the last two spells. Then you almost burst into tears from the frustration so I decided to really keep going with it."

"Alright, that is it, Malfoy! I'm not smuggling you any more sustenance!" I threatened. "Go find your friends and tell them your insomnia-induced mental breakdown was a false alarm. Maybe they'll let you back at the table."

He curled his lip.

"Just be grateful I've agreed to your little study-buddy _thing_ in the first place. I have about a million real life things to do. You know, ones that are actually worth my time," he said.

"And staying in your program of choice isn't worth your time?" I argued.

"Zabini, are you still under the illusion that any of this will matter? Are you still honestly convinced that there will even be a next year at this school?" He laughed openly at the idea. "I bet you think that you'll be walking out of here into a _job_ instead of a world where you'll be kept only to serve people like me."

I bristled instantly at this.

"Don't lecture me on having delusions, Ferret, because you're full of them," I said coldly.

"I just don't understand how you do it; how you can go on about trivial things when your own death is at your damn door. Is it stupidity or something?"

"My death? _My_ death, Malfoy?" I spluttered.

"Yes, Zabini, _your_ death. I'm not the only one at the mercy of the Dark Lord. The Potty gang is first on his list. So why don't you tell me exactly how it is that you can sit here and argue about fixing a nosebleed when the world outside these castle walls is about to do to you what it's done to me."

I took a trinity of deep breaths for his sake, and they calmed me down enough to consider his question.

"I … really don't know," I admitted, after a moment of thinking. "If it makes you feel any better, I am aware of how it comes across: lectures on classes that don't matter to you for a career that soon won't matter to you, from a person that never even mattered to you in the first place. I know all that. And I'm sure that what's happening to your family makes my blabbering all the more insulting. I get that too. But I don't know how to communicate with you, Malfoy. These classes are all you seem to let us have in common."

"That's because we _have_ nothing in common."

"We have our families in common," I pointed out.

"Our approach to family is hardly comparable, Zabini. I protect mine. All you do is make yours stick out like sore thumbs to the Dark Lord. It's typical Gryffindor bullshit; anything to rebel."

"This war isn't some game to me, Malfoy. I have more family than meets the eye, and they need protecting too."

He gaped at me as if I really was the stupidest thing he had laid eyes on all day.

" _Potter?_ You think Potter and his apostles are your family? Newsflash, Zabini: _they will never accept you._ "

"I trust them all with my life."

"I bet you do," he said arrogantly. "Too bad they think nothing of you in return. Don't you get it? All you are to them is a nosy little rich girl who doesn't know a speck of their struggles. You didn't grow up eating where pigs shit like Weaselbee, no one ever questions your right to practice magic like they do when it comes to the Mudblood. You didn't even get a stupid cut on your face from being an orphan hero like Pothead. Face it, Zabini. You don't fit."

"You're just bitter that they're infinitely better people than you."

"My _god_ , Zabini, you are _obsessed_ with them! What exactly have they done for you that makes it impossible for you to acknowledge how pathetic they are? Go on, enlighten me. I bet I could do whatever it was twice as well."

I snorted.

"No, you couldn't."

"Yes I could."

I turned furiously to him.

"What did they do, Malfoy? They accepted me. They treated me with kindness, not derision. They laughed at my jokes and sympathized with my bad days. And most importantly they never, _ever_ put me down to bring themselves up. Not even when it would have been easy. Can you say the same?"

He hesitated.

"Sympathy is for the weak," he remarked. "Also your jokes aren't funny, so there's that," he added after a moment.

"The wise Ferret hath spoken," I mocked. "Suppose you think I should have just stuck with your circle all these years, then. Oh what _fun_ I could have had kicking around First Years and blowing air kisses at Pansy while we called each other cows behind our backs. And let's not forget you and I. We've really missed out on some quality time together; just think of all the Muggleborns we could have driven to suicide over the years."

I stomped over to a window, unable to look at him. Malfoy followed me with laughter on his tongue.

"So you _are_ still sore over me kicking you out of the gang all those years ago," he said in satisfied astonishment.

I scoffed in response.

"I'd have let you stay in with us, you know. That is, if you weren't so insufferably self-righteous - and if you didn't get yourself sorted into _Gryffindork_ because of it."

"My 'self-righteousness' has nothing to do with my getting into Gryffindor. As for you, Malfoy, I don't care if it's Hufflepuff I got myself into - you still didn't have to make my life a living hell just because my school uniform's a different bloody colour," I said cuttingly. "That has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you're a prick."

"No more a prick than those hypocrites you call friends. You've been missing every afternoon for three days straight, you haven't brushed your hair for four, and you left school grounds for an entire day to face a man who nearly murd – well that part's just hearsay, really-"

"Is it?" I said softly.

Malfoy look at me uneasily and said nothing. I sighed and fell back into my armchair.

"Then what do you propose I do, Malfoy? You know, since all my friends think of me as a disposable little rich girl?" I said sardonically.

"Whatever it takes to survive, Zabini."

"Which is what, oh wise one?"

"Some goddamn sleep for starters," he said as he rubbed his eyes.

"Sleep on your own time!" I scolded, while fighting off my own yawn.

"You're more than welcome to escort yourself out," said Malfoy as he spread out over the couch, long limbs hanging off the edges, looking nothing short of battered royalty.

For some odd reason I didn't have it in me to kick him awake, so I resorted to glaring at him from above the pages of my Potions textbook. I didn't stop until the motions of his chest reached a slow and steady beat.

Something about watching your childhood nemesis sleep felt entirely perverse, so I curled into the mustard yellow armchair with my legs hanging over the armrest and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was shaking on top of stone.

"Zabini, are you dying over there?" grumbled a groggy Malfoy.

I couldn't reply, too busy trying to remember what had scared me so much that it had sent me to the floor.

"Damn it, Freakface," he snapped as he slid off the couch and came over.

"What happened to me, Malfoy?" I whispered.

"You said hello to gravity, that's what."

I shook my throbbing head.

"I meant did something happen to me? In Azkaban?"

He looked at me suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Ever since we went, I've been having … bad nights."

"In what way?"

"Never mind," I said, feeling slightly ashamed. "I was just wondering if maybe something happened to me when I blacked out in there."

"Didn't I say very clearly that I didn't want to talk about that place or what happened within it?"

I nodded.

"Then why do you keep doing it anyway?"

"I'm sorry."

He gave me one last look as I climbed back up into the chair, and regained his place on the sofa. I glanced at an old clock with a moon for a face.

"Is that clock accurate?"

"It's behind by about twenty-five minutes," replied Malfoy.

"Then I am very, _very_ late for Quidditch practice."

I threw myself off the chair and began stuffing things back into my book-bag. He stared at me without a word, then suddenly:

"Hey, Zabini?"

"Yeah?"

"Why's your broom such shit?"

I turned to him, bewildered. 

"It was the only one I could afford."

Malfoy snorted. "I'm sure. Your father's one of the only wizards employed by Gringotts as a higher-up and you can't buy anything better than a stick that occasionally hovers in the air? Sell that story to someone else, Zabini, because I don't buy it."

"That's because you're not listening, as always. It was the only one _I_ could afford," I said, pointing to myself with both hands since he seemed too thick to get the message without a visual cue. "My parents would never buy me a broom, Malfoy; they can barely stand the fact that I play in the first place."

He frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of logic in this scenario.

"So then how did you get one? Trust fund? Allowance?"

"Work," I said simply.

"Work…?" He sounded it out, the word clearly foreign to his tongue. "That's ridiculous. You're sixteen; no one would hire you."

I crossed my arms and fixed him a sharp look.

"You got hired just fine."

"Zabini, bring that up one more time and I swear to-"

"I'll bring it up until the day you die or get some sense. Don't ask me which one I think will come first. As for getting hired, I was taken on without a problem."

"By who?" he drawled, drowning in skepticism.

I straightened my shoulders. I had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Work was work.

"By the Doughtons. I did their … gardening."

I was pretty glad he wasn't drinking anything, because he would have ended up spraying it out all over my face.

"You worked."

"Yes."

"For a family that makes less money than your own."

"Yes."

"As a gardener."

"Yes."

He stared at me for a moment, looking genuinely unsure of what to do with this piece of information, and I felt quite proud of myself for befuddling thy great Slytherin so much that he couldn't even think of a jab.

"No more questions, I assume?"

"But why?" he blurted.

"I already told you, I took the job to save up for my Quidditch gear."

"No, Zabini. Why would they hire _you_ to maintain a garden, out of all people? You are to Herbology what Weasel King is to … well, any useful skill, really." Suddenly, he broke into a wicked grin, one that I hadn't seen on him since last year. "They hired you to get rid of it, didn't they?"

I scowled at him. How did this git catch on to things so quickly?

"Of course! It's the only thing that makes sense! Can't believe I never realized at the beginning." He was laughing openly now, and although it was at my expense, it was the most life I'd seen in him for ages. "We should make you little business cards: Heidi Zabini, Certified Plant Assassin."

"You make mine if I make yours," I said sweetly.

"Generous offer, Zabini, but I don't think my vocation necessitates that much publicity."

I snorted and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Later, Malfoy."

By the looks of the torch-lit halls, and the shadows dancing on them from the moonlight, Quidditch practice was very well over. By the looks of my captain, who I stumbled upon ten steps from the room, my career on the team was very well over too.

"Zabini!" barked Harry.

I cringed, knuckles going white around the strap of my bag. When he went for the last name, I knew it was bad.

"Harry! Hello!"

My grin was so forcedly broad I may as well have been competing for the Little Miss Sorcery pageant.

"Any particular reason you decided practice was optional today?" he asked impatiently.

"I had homework."

"The whole team had homework," he said. "And even if they didn't, this isn't like you at all."

I sighed, dropping the smile that I knew wasn't doing me any good anyway.

"I know, Harry. I've just been feeling sick. Really sick."

"Yeah, 'Mione told us. Shouldn't you be going to Pomfrey by now?"

I shook my head. "I don't have time. She'll make me miss class."

"So get Malfoy to take down notes! He has to be good for something doesn't he?"

"He doesn't go," I said.

"What do you mean 'doesn't go'?" snapped Harry.

"He just doesn't go."

Harry did a double-take.

"And that's permitted? Who's thick enough not to give him detention for that?"

I shrugged. In reality, I knew Dumbledore had given him special permission to take a week in light of personal trauma, but Harry would be the last person Malfoy wanted in on his life.

"He's been doing the work on his own time lately, and I try not to question it. So far he's been keeping up just as well as me. That's all I can ask of a prat like him for now."

"Now, now, Zabini. I thought we were finally beyond insults."

Harry's eyes darkened as he looked past my shoulder, and it was no secret why.

"What are you doing up here, Malfoy?" he said with a tensed jaw.

"Oh, I was just doing a bit of after-class bonding with Zabini over here," he said, taking a step towards me despite my warning growl. "You know, sympathizing with her and laughing at her jokes, and never, _ever_ putting her down no matter how incredibly easy it is. She told me all sorts of wonderful Gryffindor tidbits. Some more-"

"What? No, I didn't!" I exclaimed.

"-intimate than others. Did you know she buys her own brooms, Potter?" he taunted, standing so close to me that the fabric of his clothes brushed the back of my hand. Every muscle in my body seemed to tense.

Harry looked from me to Malfoy, and gave a relieved laugh.

"Yeah, Malfoy, I did. And that's just a sample of the things that make her better than you."

"And you, Pottyface," he pointed out, utterly unaffected. "She showed me her Patronus, too. You know, the one that you taught her in your little underground resistance movement because you're such a good friend." Malfoy put a hand around my shoulder and looked down at me amicably. "A macaroni penguin, wasn't it?"

I'd have taken better note of how terrifyingly good he was at faking friendship, but I was a little busy having an internal meltdown at the fact that the person who once made bugs come out of my mouth now had his arm wrapped tightly around me.

"I mean, I didn't expect a jaguar out of you, Zabini, but a peng-"

Harry was the quickest of us all to draw his wand.

"Hands off, Malfoy! Now!"

Malfoy grinned wickedly and squeezed me tighter to his side.

"Say, Potter, you consider her a friend, right? You like the fact that she exists?" he asked.

Harry looked at me warily for clues. I had no choice but to shrug from underneath Malfoy's grip; I had no idea what his point was at all.

"Of course I like that she exists. What are you getting at, Malfoy? What is this?"

Malfoy dropped his arm and went suddenly back to normal.

"Then maybe, just _maybe_ , you should stop inviting her to face armed and skilled Death Eaters in battles that have nothing to do with her."

"Going to the Department of Mysteries was my own decision, Malfoy!" I spluttered. I had no idea where any of this was coming from.

"What are you talking about!" demanded Harry. They had both decided to ignore me, it seemed.

"Too stupid to get it, aren't you? She's not some common pauper you can bring around to fight your little fights. She's a member of The Sacred Twenty-Eight, and if you cretins keep this up, she'll end up right at the top of his list."

"Whose?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I'll let you figure that one out, Potter. Should only take you a decade."

"Just because Heidi's rich doesn't mean she doesn't have a right to fight on the good side of this war."

"Potter, it's fine to be a walking, talking farce, but it's really quite rude to get your good friends murdered because of it. Especially when they – rather inconveniently, if you ask me – 'trust you with their lives'. As for your opinion of your 'side'? Well that just tickles me."

"And what side are you on, Malfoy? Got yourself a mask like daddy yet?" snarled Harry.

I stiffened, making Malfoy's gaze go straight to me.

"Why don't you ask Zabini?" he suggested coolly.

Harry turned to me, frowning.

"What's he talking about?"

I stared at Malfoy, feeling the blood drain from my face.

"I don't know, Harry," I said, holding my gaze on his nemesis. "I can only assume he's going _insane._ "

"Well, you know what they say about assuming," said Malfoy smugly. "Anyway, I'm off to polish my mask, or my tattoo, or whatever. Stay holy now, Potty. You too, Collateral Damage."

"You know, I almost prefer Freakface," I called after his retreating back.

"What was that?" demanded Harry.

"The result of one too many daiquiris in September of '79," I replied, my heart finally starting to slow back to its normal pace now that he was gone. "Anyway, Harry, shall we go back to the common room? I left some books-"

"Are you two friends now or something?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why is he defending you against me all of a sudden?"

I groaned.

"Harry, ignore it, I'm begging you. We got into a stupid argument earlier, and now he's out to prove a point about you not really being my friend. It's nothing."

"That is definitely something."

"It's _nothing._ Come on, let's go downstairs."

But Harry wasn't budging.

"Why were you two up here in the first place? There's nothing on the seventh floor except the Room of … hang on … did you bring Malfoy to the Room of Requirement?"

I shook my head quickly. Harry began walking in the direction of the room with me at his tail.

"Why can't I get in?" he said after going through the necessary steps.

"What do you mean?"

"It won't open. You try."

Confusedly, I paced and thought of my need to get in. The door materialized as it always had, to my intense relief.

"See, just a fluke," I said airily, desperate to get him out of our meeting place in case Malfoy left something that could be traced back to him, like his family ring or a suitcase filled with unwelcome sarcasm.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Ronald, you have got to tell your brothers to stop sending their order forms here. I already confiscated three of those jumping gummy bears."

"They're harmless!" argued Ron as he twirled one in his hand. It did a cartwheel, then promptly attempted to bite him.

"They most certainly are not harmless! Nigel had one jump up his nose earlier; Heidi even had to help him get it out. Heidi, back me up on this!"

"Er … yeah. They can really cause some damage to one's nasal … pathways …"

"Passages," Hermione hissed.

"Passages," I corrected. "Look, just tell Fred and George to sell it to the Slytherins up the hall. They'll still get the profits, and it won't be our kids that get sweets stuck up their nose."

"Fan of them this evening, aren't you? The Slytherins?" said Harry.

"I hardly think selling them biting, jumping candy in the hopes that they get it up their orifices constitutes a friendly gesture. But sure. Let's call it that."

In reality, Malfoy's words were still buried in my head, nagging away at me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I really was disposable.

"What does it matter if she is?" asked Hermione.

"Beg pardon?" cut in Ron.

"I'm just saying that we're under no obligation to hate them. In fact, the more of them we alienate, the more of them will want us dead."

"I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but the majority of them already wouldn't care if we died," said Harry.

"Trying to kill somebody and being indifferent to their death are two different things, Harry," I explained. "Trust me. I've had both."

In the back of my mind, I pictured father and son, and knew in a heartbeat which one I preferred.

"Yeah, I reckon I know a thing or two about someone being out to kill me too, Zabini," Harry said.

"Don't call me by my last name," I said quietly. "We're friends, remember?"

He mumbled an apology.

"Yes, we are friends," interjected Hermione. "And I for one think the less enemies we have, the better."

Ron shook his head.

"We're not making nice-nice, if that's what you're suggesting. When he went here, Sirius would never have even thought to-"

"Which is precisely why he was on the losing side of the First Wizarding War, Ronald. But the Sirius I knew would have extended kindness to any one of them, just as Dumbledore suggests we do each year. Maybe then they won't go running to the other side."

"Are you trying to tell me that Draco Malfoy wasn't _born_ on the other side?" exclaimed Harry.

Hermione thought about this.

"Well, maybe Malfoy was-"

"No. No he wasn't."

They all turned to me.

"I remember him a few years before Hogwarts started. He wasn't the same."

I thought of him, of the way we used to be years before anything mattered. The summers at his Manor spent running around together, getting each other into trouble so we could get each other out of trouble. It made my stomach turn for the Malfoy I knew now.

"Sorry, I just realized I left something…" I said.

I ran all the way from the dungeons to the seventh floor, where I knew he'd taken to spending his evenings. I stormed in breathlessly and walked through the towers of useless objects until I found him at a desk, surrounded by books that most definitely belonged in the restricted section.

Malfoy rotated his chair to face me, and raised his eyebrow, challenging me to say whatever it was I came to say.

"I'm getting you back by the end of the year, you mark my words," I promised him.

He rolled his eyes and picked his quill back up, clearly thinking nothing of my pledge.

"Getting me back for what, exactly? Making Potty think we're friends? There's a myriad of things I imagine you want to get me back for. You'll have to be more specific."

"I'm telling you, Malfoy. I'm going to get you back."

And I would get him back, back to the person I once knew he could be.

It was a plan inspired entirely by the feeling of being held at his side with his arm spanning the length of my shoulders.

 


	13. No Good Tea Goes Unpunished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say today other than hello and thank you for reading!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

Ron, Harry, and Ginny all stared at me in wonder as I piled a double portion of breakfast onto my plate.

"Seriously?" asked Ron as a smattering of jelly made its way onto my eggs.

"Yeah, Ron, like you can criticize," said Ginny, though she too was unable to look away from the culinary train-wreck happening in front of her. "Er … you're really going to have eight slices of toast?"

"I sure am," I lied, spreading a different type of jam on each. It was my fault, really, for not knowing my sworn enemy's breakfast habits. Now I had no choice but to bring him every combination of jam and toast available.

"But you hate gooseberry."

I stopped and a glob of it slid disgustingly from my knife.

"You know, Harry, it's less of a hatred and more of a … an ... don't you have class soon?"

"Good point," said Harry. "C'mon, Ron. McGonagall's going to blow if we're late again."

Ron cast me one last confused look and followed Harry to class, leaving me intensely relieved as I worked on my last slice of toast, until I realized the youngest Weasley was still studying me.

"What is it Ginny?"

"Don't you have class as well?" she asked.

"Oh! Er … yeah, I was just leaving."

I covered the plate with another for easier transportation, and shrank it until it fit comfortably into the center of my palm. On my way out, I grabbed two apples and an orange, and only then felt satisfied that I had covered all my bases. After all, if you're going to attempt to win over an impossible jerk with food, the very least you can do is include three or four food groups.

It wasn't hard to find him in the crowd that had collected outside Tonks' classroom. For starters, he was taller than a good three-quarters of the class, and the almost-albinism didn't exactly help him blend in. But something else was making it easier to spot him today – the fact that he was standing off in the corner, alone, instead of holding court in the hallways like he used to. And my brother, who was usually there to indulge Malfoy in whatever petty criticisms he was spewing, was now standing far, far away and engaging Padma in polite conversation.

Without much forethought, I strode over to him and in my sweetest, brightest, most friendship-pushing voice called out: "Morning, Malfoy!"

Every head turned to me, but Malfoy, Blaise and Anthony looked particularly disgruntled.

"What is it Zabini? What have you done that's got you all … riled up?" hissed Malfoy as I reached his corner, offerings in hand and my attempt at a smile in place.

"I'm not riled up."

"Yes, you are. You're bouncing like some socially stunted dog," he muttered, stepping back to keep a distance.

I had all sorts of comments about him acquainting with socially stunted dogs (pugs in particular), but comebacks were not part of the plan. The plan was complete, unfaltering kindness. I dug out the buffet of toast that I had painstakingly prepared and enlarged it back to normal before handing it to him.

"What the…"

"Oh!" I exclaimed, going back into the bag, "Your fruits!"

I dug them out and blew some crumbs off of them.

"There. Healthy breakfast complete."

He stared down at the platter, the corners of his mouth twitching south.

"What is it, Malfoy?" I asked hesitantly. Maybe I'd made a mistake with the apples … was it peaches that he ate instead? No, no, I've definitely mocked him for sinister apple eating before…

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked under his breath, his eyes darting around to shoot warning glares at everyone around us, daring them to comment.

" _To_ you? Don't you mean _for_ you?" I asked, unable to mask my offence.

He ignored my question.

"Is this it then? Is this you 'getting me back'? Alright, Zabini, you proved your point," he said as he shoved my peace offering back into my hands. "Now get rid of your props."

"My what? Malfoy, are you insane?"

"I fail to see how I'm being unclear! I don't want anything that a dirty blood traitor touched, thanks." He announced the last part especially loudly, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was even the intended audience.

I felt the heat rise up my neck as a few irrelevant Slytherins laughed. The approval of his housemates, even those I'd never seen him speak to, seemed to fuel him.

"You can stop staring at me with that stupid little face on, Zabini, I still don't want to have anything to do with you."

I opened my mouth, then shut it with a clack when I realized I had absolutely nothing to say. I noticed with internal horror that my bottom lip was trembling, and the more I noticed my reaction to him, the more it showed.

"Look at you quiver," he said with a half-grin.

I stepped back. The heat of public humiliation had reached my eyes at godspeed, and once the tears began to form, it seemed they were infinite. This was different than our usual underhanded insults. Those were mutual and expected, and my armour was well up for them. But this? This was rejection, loud and raw.

Malfoy was no longer looking at me. He was smirking instead at his audience of snakes, most of which seemed duly entertained at my expense. The time that he took to indulge in his performance gave me ample chance to reach for my wand.

He didn't catch onto what I'd done until he found himself well past Tonks' classroom, magicked six doors away by the pull of a tether.

"What the – Zabini, stop pulling me, you-"

" _Colloportus!_ " I cast, leading the door to slam and seal itself with a sickening squelch. I turned to my captive, quaking with humiliation. "You! You are a horrible, attention-starved, sycophantic _child!_ "

I took in a wet, shuddering gasp.

Malfoy took an uncomfortable step back, but every step away from me was contested with two steps forward. He wouldn't be escaping what he caused. Not today. For once, he would stare directly at it.

"You know, Malfoy, for the longest time I thought you simply liked being mean. But now I see I was wrong," I ranted. "It's not that you like it, it's that you're stuck with it by default! Can you at least _attempt_ to understand the difference between friendliness and mockery? Because that defensive snark of yours is getting old. It's getting old, and it's getting weak, and it's getting pathetic."

I had to pause my rant so that I could rub at my salt-stung eyes, and it was this of all things that made him visibly cringe. My lips parted in offended astonishment at his reaction to me.

"What, Malfoy? What _exactly_ isn't to your liking about this picture?" I demanded. "I mean, you got what you wanted. Useless Gryffindor Zabini utterly destroyed in front of a crowd."

"That's enough," he mumbled, turning away from me.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed, laughing half-erratically as I realized what was going on. "Oh my god, you've got to be joking."

He brought his eyebrows together, looking both confused and concerned for his safety.

"You only like it when it's cute crying, don't you? You know, the kind that's just enough to show you that you did the job. A little sniffle here, a tiny teardrop there. But you _really_ don't like it when it's dry, heaving sobs and snot-covered sleeves. That part's just a wee bit too messy for you."

"You don't know what you're talk-"

"Can you not see I'm a bloody person? A living, breathing human being who thought for a second that we could move on from this crap?"

"You're hysterical. Take a potion."

He dismissed me like it was nothing.

"I'm not hysterical, I'm hurt. An expert such as yourself can't tell?" I asked dryly.

"Well what did you expect, pulling a public stunt like that?" he accused.

"It wasn't a stunt, you complete dipshit! I was trying to be your …"

"My what?"

"I was trying to be kind," I said, successfully evading the full truth.

"I don't need it."

"I don't care if you need it or not! I'm giving it to you!"

"And I refuse to owe anybody anything," he said obtusely.

"You think I'm like your friends? You think I do nice things exclusively so I can scribble them down in a little notebook and call on them later?"

I snorted at the idea.

"Don't say stupid things. You're nothing like my friends."

"And thank Merlin for that! Because if I were, I wouldn't be able to blame you for treating me the way you do. But I'm not, so I can."

Malfoy got up to rattle the doorknob, too smart to think it fruitful, too uncomfortable to resist an attempt to escape me.

All this had awoken an insatiable need to know the answer to a question that I explored at least bi-weekly, usually in bed after a cataclysm of a day.

"I want you to tell me what I did to you, Malfoy. What I ever did to make you hate me so much."

Malfoy growled, kicking the door half-heartedly without even bothering to demand that I open it.

"Please. Only once."

"What, like it'll help? Get over it, Zabini. We are what we are, it is what it is."

"But if I did something – _if_ I did – then …" I swallowed snot and some pride went with it. "Then I want to be able to apologize to you. It's only right."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Open this door or I'll murder you right here."

I marched in front of it and blocked it from arm to arm, as if he couldn't pick me up and plop me wherever he wanted.

"This door doesn't open until you tell me."

"If you don't move-"

"Why are you like this? What did I do? What-"

"Nothing, alright! You did nothing! I decided to hate you all by my lonesome! How does that help you in _any_ fucking way?"

I could feel my face contort from the confusion.

"But… but why would you just decide to-"

"Because it was the easiest shortcut I've ever taken! The best bloody decision of my life!"

He was grinning madly as he said it, the way I'd always pictured happened when someone finally broke down to confess; wild, unhinged relief.

"What do you mean 'shortcut'?" I asked, not comprehending a word.

"Oh, use your brain, would you! What happened, even today, when I hurt your little feelings?"

I thought of the crowd, the way they grinned at him, admiring the abuse. I thought of his father, who practically thrived on doling out such abuse. I thought of Malfoy, for whom admiration and family combined into the most potent motivator.

And all this time, I thought it had been personal. I thought it had been because of me, because I had done something to him that had been pivotal enough to demand such a grudge. In some perverse way, I thought I had been … special? I was shocked to see myself thoroughly disappointed at finding out I wasn't.

"Out."

It was so short and murderous that it took me a moment to realize it had come from my own mouth.

"What?"

"Get out. Get out of my sight."

The more I said it, the better it began to sound.

"Zabini…"

My hands shook so hard that I had to clutch either side of a desk to keep him from seeing the extent of it.

"What, you can't follow a simple order? Isn't that what you signed up to do with the rest of your life? Go on and get out of my sight, servant boy!" I jeered as I unlocked the door with my wand.

The entirety of his angled jaw flexed and clenched, but I must have made him just uncomfortable enough that he was reluctant to do anything but follow my demand. So he left.

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"I've got a delivery for you, from my least favourite cousin."

I finished the last of his toast sampler and brought my gaze to Tonks, who stood in the doorway with a small sheet of parchment.

"You mean Malfoy?" I asked with a frown.

She nodded and came up to the desk I had been occupying ever since I kicked him out an hour ago.

"He dropped this off on his way out after I asked him why you weren't in. I figured he was lying the minute he said you cut class to become the Saint of Insufferability, but I do have to give him credit for pointing me to your hideout."

"What did he leave?" I asked, suddenly nervous.

She put a piece of folded parchment in front of me.

"I think they're some notes that you missed today."

I grabbed them in astonishment, then snorted. All he left was a couple of scribbles on something known as 'latching' and a half-finished diagram. I threw them in my bag and forgot about them just as quickly.

"Shame you missed my class. It was a pretty good one."

She said it casually enough, but I knew it was her way of extracting information from my guilty conscience. I apologized and promptly reminded her that she was supposed to give me detention. At this, she laughed.

"You'll get in trouble with McGonagall if you don't," I remarked, forever pursuing ways to self-punish.

"You realize Malfoy's missed at least five times the amount of classes you have, and hasn't done time for a single one? And you still want me to put you in detention?"

"Malfoy has 'special permission' from Dumbledore," I grumbled darkly. "Or at least I think he does. He mentioned something about it when I was getting on him for dodging Herbology."

"He does. Compassionate grounds for difficult family circumstances."

"Of all people, Harry should be the one to-"

"Let's talk about you," she redirected quickly.

"Right. Me," I conceded. "What's there to talk about exactly?"

Tonks shrugged.

"I'm sure you can conjure something up."

"I have Transfiguration. McGonagall won't want me missing it."

"I'll write her a note excusing your absence. I haven't got another batch of kids for two periods, so we can make a treat of it. I've gotten Dobby to make me extra divinity fudge every time he does the desserts. I pay him for it of course – he insists on tea cozies. But the fudge is worth every one."

My face gave a stray smile.

"I made that the Muggle way once, as a kid."

"Really?" exclaimed Tonks. "Was it very hard?"

"Not really… but I was doing it to prove a point. I made it for a charity event my family was a part of, to prove that we weren't so different from Muggles."

"That was noble."

My smile disappeared.

"It was stupid. The event ended up being run by a bunch of bigots, including the Malfoys. I should have known better."

"I guess you could call that a lesson in politics."

"My entire existence seems to be a lesson in politics," I admitted with a sigh. "I don't know why I bother with these people."

"The Malfoys you mean? Have you and Malfoy had a row again?" she asked.

"That's a bit of a soft word for it," I said with a snort. "Rows are what we had as kids. Now we have downright mutinies."

"You do have a strange relationship, I must say."

"Well that's just the best part," I exclaimed, with a laugh that didn't quite sound like my own. "I learned today that he didn't even bother to have a reason, apart from not liking my face. As if the things he did to me weren't hurtful enough, now I get to know that he just did them for the hell of it." I buried my head in my hands. "I'd go nuts sometimes, you know. Wondering. Guessing why he phased me out, or why he humiliated me for this reason or that."

"Has he ever expressed remorse?" she asked, quiet and sympathetic, with a hand on my shoulder.

I snorted wetly.

"No. Well … once."


	14. Pushing Down Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This is more of a set-up chapter to provide some context to Malfoy and Heidi’s relationship. I had quite a bit of fun writing it, however, as I really enjoyed the chance to do a bit of a flashback. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"But why can't I have a normal party with my _real_ friends?" I insisted as I darted after my mother, who was clutching a clipboard and, as always, giving it priority over me.

"Tut tut, the chrysanthemums are out of place again. I'll have to let Narcissa know."

"Mum!"

"And this vase needs to be covered. No fourteen year old needs to be looking at that kind of nudity, art piece or not-"

"MUM!"

She came to such an abrupt stop that I went slamming into her, causing all arguments to tumble out of my head.

"Oh, would you stop moaning! Just be thankful that the Malfoys offered such a beautiful estate! You're only turning fourteen and you're getting a grander party than my wedding!"

A lie, but I wouldn't bother going there.

"You get four cakes and Metamorphmagi performers all the way from Norway, and you're still unsatisfied?"

"But I don't _want_ Norwegian Metamorphmagi, or a big party. And I especially don't want anything to do with this place or the prat who lives in it!"

"But you do want the four cakes? Just to be clear?"

I stayed tactfully silent on that one.

"Look, it helps Papa a lot if we allow the Malfoys to show such a public … liking … for our family. It keeps things diplomatic."

"Well it's a good thing I'm a fourteen year old by day and a diplomat by night," I grumbled.

My mother stared at me, her plum-stained lips parted.

"The sarcasm that comes out of your mouth these days puts your great aunt Coraline to shame!"

"Good. She's the one I like the most out of this family anyway."

My mother fixed me a rather unaffected look.

"Work on your fourth divorce in seven years and you just might become your idol. Now go get changed. Roley laid out some green dress robes for you and I expect you to emerge in them within the hour."

Knowing this was a battle well lost, I did as told.

The usually cheerless halls of Malfoy Manor had undergone a rather effective redecoration. Huge, glittering curtains had been hung to cover the black and red stained glass windows, which was a pretty good call for an event where kids would be present, since the majority of them depicted witch burnings of various intensities. Tables were lined with rows of self-filling champagne flutes and wine glasses charmed to repel the hands of anyone under the age of seventeen, while crystal pitchers of pumpkin juice levitated in various corners of the room for the children. I grabbed a glass.

On my way to the dessert table, I passed the Metamorphmagi Twins. I would learn in my later years that they weren't quite the passionate performers I thought they were, but rather a pair of recently graduated Norwegian twins trying to stave off some pretty hefty rent fees in Wizarding Oslo. Understandably, they weren't being paid enough to deal with people like Malfoy, and seemed rather reluctant to be back after the snake-throwing incident that had occurred on his eleventh birthday.

All I had managed to find in the way of sweets was a river of chocolate fondue streaming from a serpent's mouth, and some cherries to dip into it. I dumped my pumpkin juice and stuck the chalice in until it filled, knowing that if my parents caught me I'd be utterly wrecked.

"Happy birthday, Little Miss Zabini!" came a voice from beside me, just in time to have missed the worst of it.

"Thanks, Mrs. Crabbe," I said, recognizing the velvety tone.

Due to the fact that her head wasn't the size of a boulder, and to her possession of anything remotely close to a neck, the woman beside me was clearly not Crabbe's biological mother. The real one disappeared sometime before the spring I turned six, and when my mother decided that I was old enough to understand the words 'alimony payments', I was told that that's what Mrs. Crabbe the First had used to take her face and make it into a brand new face about a month after her departure.

"Making yourself at home by the dessert table, I see," she said with a half-smile.

"Well … you know …" I blushed and tipped my glass of illicit chocolate back into the mini fountain.

"Between you and I, there's a heap of French pastries down in the kitchens that Narcissa refuses to bring out," she whispered.

"Why?"

"She caught her house-elf making them the Muggle way."

I didn't need telling twice. After a hurried thanks, I set off for the kitchen.

As with all of these functions, the put-together appearance of the outside hall was but a front for the chaos within. It seemed like everybody's house-elves had been enlisted to help in the kitchen. I narrowly avoided one zooming past me with a platter of lady fingers, his own fingers covered in fresh bandages. I gave him a sympathetic look and scuttled over to the nearest counter in search of the promised tray.

I stopped suddenly, feeling like I'd been doused in ice.

There he was, like on every holiday, eyes glinting underneath white-blond wisps, assuring me without wasting words that nothing I wanted would happen today – not if he could help it.

"Does it have to be you?"

It tumbled out of my mouth emotionlessly, worn out over the years by me asking it every time I woke up and found him still existing.

"Yes, Zabini? Was there something you wanted to say?"

"I didn't invite you," I sighed, pushing past him on my way through his kitchen.

"Ah yes. Unfortunately for you, I happen to own this place."

"No, your parents own this place. Now go away," I retorted.

"Well where would you rather have a party? Not Weaselbee's dung house, surely; the smell would never come off. You went there over Christmas once, didn't you? Is it true he has to sleep with the pigs because his mother doesn't love him?"

I chose not to confirm nor deny this most inconvenient truth. The full story was that Ron had tried to make Percy's buttocks stick together, much to the fury of their mother. Of course, this was knowledge best kept away from Malfoy and company.

"Who told you that?" I demanded.

"Pucey."

"You talk to Adrian?" I asked, forgetting momentarily who I was talking to. It was a slip – a teeny-tiny lapse - and it was a fatal mistake because Malfoy, for all his dumb broom stunts and hair gel fiascos, was not stupid.

"Adrian?" he snickered. "Who's 'Adrian'?"

"I meant Pucey."

"Yes, but you _said_ Adrian," he said infuriatingly. "Hang on, Zabini … you're not in love with him or something, are you?"

He knew. He knew, he knew, he _knew._

"Malfoy, no! Keep your mouth dead shut and don't get any ideas!" I hissed frantically, checking over my shoulder to make sure none of the house-elves had suddenly taken an interest in teenage gossip.

He brought his hands up innocently, but the smug glint never quite dissolved from his eyes.

"Zabini, I am the last person to get in the way of your fairytale romance with Pucey. In fact, I almost think you stand a chance. Have you seen his last girlfriend? She's got buckteeth!"

"I …" I trailed off as Crabbe and Goyle wandered slowly through the doorway. The pace at which these people went made me feel like they ought to have left a trail of slime everywhere.

"Draco, we're hungry," said Goyle.

"Well you two _are_ in a kitchen, so congratulations on making it this far," said Malfoy irately. He took a closer look at his two ham-like shadows. Large, sticky looking stains covered them from forehead to neck. "What the hell is on your faces?"

"Chocolate. We was drinking it from the fountain."

"By putting your heads in?!" hollered Malfoy.

"It's faster than cups, Draco. We timed it."

I turned away to gag, and thanked the stars that I'd dumped whatever spit-filled, snot-tainted liquid was in my cup earlier.

"People dip fruit in that, you bloody gorillas!" he said furiously. "Go wash your faces in the sink; this is a party!"

I glowered at the two of them lumbering towards the kitchen sink. They were clearly going to make headquarters in here – the only room in this awful house that offered me some happiness.

"This birthday blows," I announced loudly to Malfoy.

"Well save us all the trouble and don't get born next time," he snapped, before turning his attention back to his cronies. "Did you two slip the cockroach in like I told you to? Because nobody's screaming yet."

I never heard the rest of that (admittedly off-putting) conversation because I was already marching out of the kitchen. By the sounds of laughter and chatter reverberating through the manor, more people had gathered.

Defeated and pastry-less, I reappeared in the ballroom, just in time to be yanked sideways by my mother.

"Where in Salazar's name were you? You missed saying hello to at least seven guests!" She pulled something out of her pocket. "Here. It's from that great aunt of yours that you love so much. All of that money and this is what she gets you? A wand case?" She tisked and shook her head as I unraveled the gift to unveil a wand-like hollow in silver velvet. "By the way, have you seen your brother?"

"No, thank Merlin," I said, earning myself a reprimanding glare.

"Go find him. He was with your father last I saw."

I picked a random direction, and went as fast as I could. My interests of course didn't lie with finding my brother, but with getting away from her.

"Happy birthday, dear."

"Thank you!" I replied hastily, not bothering to look who the greeting was from.

"Ah, yes, happy birthday, Heidi!"

"Yeah, you too," I said offhandedly, all the while looking for an abandoned corner of the house.

Out of sight of my mother, I pulled out the wand case and ripped through the velvet to get to the good stuff. There it lay. A voucher for one hundred galleons, ready to be used unmonitored on something my parents would 100% frown upon. Auntie Coraline never disappointed. I tucked it into the pocket of my dress robes and went back to the ballroom before my mother had a conniption fit.

"Hey," came the voice of my brother.

"There you are. I was looking for you," I lied. "Happy birthday."

"Yeah, thanks. Listen, what do you think Mum and Dad got you?" he muttered out the side of his mouth.

"A million dress robes, probably. Why? Are you trying to compare presents or something? Don't even bother, you always get the better ones any- why is he here?" I whimpered, looking on in horror as a heart-stopping visitor entered the room.

"He lives here, stupid."

"No!" I wailed, definitely panicking now. "I meant Ad- _Pucey!_ "

Blaise frowned. "Don't get weird. People are looking."

People were indeed looking; specifically Malfoy, who was looking (quite triumphantly) at me.

"Blaise, I have to … er … go. Tell Mum and Dad that-"

"As if. The dinner starts in twenty minutes; they'll hang you by your ankles if you go through that doorway."

"Happy Birthday, Zabini," came a warm whisper in my ear. Malfoy had somehow snuck up right beside me.

"You promised!" I whispered frantically. "You promised you wouldn't do anything and now he's here!"

"Well what was I supposed to do if he wanted to come to your birthday? Put him in the dungeons?"

"What do you mean 'wanted' to come? Why would he want to come to my birthday?"

"How should I know, Freakface?" he demanded. "I'm only here because it's Blaise's birthday too. I wouldn't be caught dead at this otherwise."

"You say it like I'd have invited you!" I snapped.

"Hey look, there's Pucey. Be cool, Zabini; he might be heading your way," Malfoy taunted.

"Cool about what?"

Apparently my brother had selected exactly this moment to tune in.

"Pucey decided to stop by and it's getting your sister all rowdy," shared Malfoy quite happily. He swiftly avoided my attempt to stomp on his foot.

"Blaise, I'm not getting row-"

"You fancy Pucey?" my brother asked, sending a flash of irritation up my spine.

"No, I-"

"She called him Adrian earlier."

"No, I-"

"Did you really? That's disgusting."

"But I nev-"

"Happy birthday."

"OH WOULD YOU SHUT UP WITH YOUR ADRIAN THIS AND PUCEY THAT!" I bellowed. It was then that I realized neither of their mouths had moved. In horror, I turned my head to see Adrian staring at me with furrowed brows, as if I was something from another planet entirely.

"Sorry … I meant your brother, too," he explained.

Malfoy and Blaise were even redder than I was, probably due to all the laughter they were trying to internalize.

"… I'm going to … go," I announced weakly, pointing to an arbitrary spot across the room.

"Oh, don't leave now, Zabini. We're having such fun being screamed at for no reason," said Malfoy with a snicker. I was already taking off the other way.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I whimpered quietly to myself.

Suddenly, each and every candle in the room went dim, forcing me to freeze mid-escape. A brilliant red glow took over the centre of the room, while from one corner came the earth-shattering boom of an organ. It took me a good thirty seconds to realize it was meant to be the world's most morbid rendition of the Birthday Song. A hand tugged me into the middle of the crimson light, where I stood side by side with Blaise. Great - this was going to achieve maximal weirdness, wasn't it…

Narcissa stepped in beside us, and put one hand on both our shoulders. Her nails were painted a delicate antique white; the way they dug into me was anything but delicate.

"Today, we celebrate the birthdays of two wonderful, magical children. I have known Blaise and Heidi Zabini for many years, and can wholeheartedly say that this is a most wonderful occasion. How good it must be to be fourteen."

She looked down at me expectantly, and I realized this was probably the moment that I was supposed to deliver my birthday speech. The one I thought was optional, despite seeing Malfoy going through – and thoroughly enjoying – this moment at each one of his own parties.

"Yes," I said, concocting frantically. "Fourteen is great. As is this party. This party is also great."

I caught sight of my mother, and realized instantly that I would need to do better.

"The reason why this party is so er … great … is because I get to spend it with people that are … great."

"She means friends," chimed in Blaise.

"Right. Great friends," I said, making eye contact with Malfoy, who, along with Pansy, was so overcome with laughter that they were in tears.

"Wonderful," said Narcissa tersely. "Anything else to add?"

I shook my head, and she gave a tart smile before moving on to Blaise. I stayed still and smiling all the way through Blaise's speech, until finally the spotlight shone on the Metmorphmagi instead, allowing me to break free.

It was a half-hour before anybody found me in the drawing room, picking fibres off a black velvet sofa. Instinctually, I shifted backwards as Adrian sat beside me. I had never been this close before to anybody I spent such a huge proportion of my day obsessing over. I really wasn't sure what to do with myself.

"Your speech back there was—"

"Oh no, please don't," I said, burying my head in my hands. "It was so, so bad."

"Well I thought it was 'great'," he said with a tiny smile. When had his eyes gotten so green? "All things considered, at least."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know: the pressure. The crowd. The creepy organ in the corner – still not entirely sure what that one was for."

"Right?" I said avidly. "They bring that thing out _every_ time!"

He laughed.

"You don't seem like you're having very much fun at your own birthday, you know."

"Oh, it's um … it's just a little bit complicated between me and … you guys," I said.

"Us?" Adrian asked. "Us as in?"

"Just … your group. The Slytherins."

He didn't look very pleased with my generalization.

"There are a lot of Slytherins," he stated.

"Oh, I know!" I said quickly. "I like some of you; just not Malfoy's crew. But the rest are, you know, fine."

"Fine?"

"Yeah. Absolutely fine. Nondescript, really."

He raised his eyebrows with a humorous smile.

"Nondescript? Don't think I've ever been described as nondescript before."

"Oh no, not you! You're very descript! Many, _many_ words come to mind."

"Yeah?"

I stared at him silently, willing at least one clever thing to enter my mind. No luck.

"So you've known Malfoy for a while, huh?" I asked.

"Since he joined the team. Why?"

"Oh just…he seems to know you well. But I guess the Quidditch thing makes sense. Nothing like Quidditch to bring friends together."

"Except when he blatantly disobeys the captain and gets us penalties. Then we don't like him so much."

"Yeah, he really shouldn't have done that blagging at the Ravenclaw game last year," I said.

"How do you know about that?" asked Adrian.

"Oh, I was watching. You know, to make sure Ravenclaw won."

"But how did you know what the foul is called? You play?"

"Merlin, no. I just watch. My parents would wring me if I ever tried out. They'd never buy me a broom to begin with. Though I'm starting to save up for one myself."

"Like with your own money? That's so-"

His eyes wandered somewhere behind me.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Could you lean into me for a minute?"

I blinked at him.

"What?"

"Just for a second."

Shaking, I leaned forward, allowing him to wrap his arms around my waist. Colourful, unstoppable scenes burst through my mind the moment he made contact. Red and pink balloons on Valentine's and walks in the park and wedding dresses and baby clothes and-

"Not to be a jerk, but Malfoy's at the window and I know it's kind of shitty of him, but he said he'd pay me if I kissed you. Think we could … you know … do it? Since you like me anyway?"

I threw him off of me faster than I could blink, and spun to the window. There was Malfoy, his pug, and his cronies. He grinned and stepped over the windowsill with a magic camera in hand. My hand flew to my wand.

"What are you so upset about, Zabini? It's only a birthday gift. Didn't you dream about this for years or something?"

Pansy laughed shrilly.

"Oh, _Adrian_ , I love you _soooo_ much. It's a shame I'm a fat little blood traitor, or else I might have stood a chance."

"Hey!" snapped Adrian. "There's no need for that."

"I don't see a finished product, Pucey, so I'll have to keep the twelve galleons for myself. You can go now," dismissed Malfoy.

"Twelve galleons?" I gasped, my voice trembling. "You offered him twelve measly galleons for this?"

"Well how much do you think you're worth? A thousand?" snorted Pansy.

I aimed my wand at her chest, arm quivering. Shamed heat crept up my neck. I couldn't believe that they had done this.

"Don't. They'll expel you for underage magic," warned Adrian.

Resentfully, I tucked my wand back into my pocket. Malfoy nudged Crabbe and Goyle to do the same.

"You're scum," I said. My eyes went to Adrian. "All of you."

I managed to turn away just as the tears came, and ran out of the room without a look back. I followed staircase upon staircase, without any regard for where I was going. I needed my friends - and for that I needed an owl.

I knew any of the Malfoy owls were out of question; they refused to answer to anybody else. I could only borrow Blaise's, whose cooperation was only a fifty-fifty shot.

I found her in the Malfoy Manor owlery, a room much smaller than the one at Hogwarts, which housed all three Malfoy birds, plus a handful that I assumed had followed some party guests.

"Here, Neptune. Come here," I said, extending a hand to Blaise's crested owl. I had a letter to Ron packed tightly into the pocket of my dress robes, telling him to sound the alarms and contact Harry and Hermione on my behalf. I had a special tendency to carry such letters around on party days. "Neptune, _come here_ ," I warned as the bird shifted away from me. "I just need you to send - no, don't fly away!" I pleaded.

She flew somewhere out the owlery window. I stuck my upper body out to look and spotted her on a set of gutters on the next tower over.

"Seriously?" I protested, pushing myself out onto the stretch of roof between the two. I sucked in a breath as I caught sight of the ground. "Don't look down, Heidi," I whispered to myself as I stepped gently across the roof. I stretched my arm out towards the owl. "Here, Neptune, you sweet, sweet bird. I just need to -"

I felt it happen before I could say anything. My ankle had rolled, and that was all it took to initiate a bone-breaking projectile dive to the ground. I remembered nothing of the end result - only the feeling of the air hissing past my ears, and the mental image of my parents, whom I knew I had disappointed on yet another birthday.

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"Heidi, somebody's here for you," said one of the medi-witches, peeking her head through the door.

I propped myself up to get a better look, but realized I had made a terrible decision upon feeling a sharp pain propel itself from elbow to fingers.

"Yeah, okay," I said weakly. I didn't care enough to try looking again; I knew what my mother looked like. Or at least I thought I did, until I saw the figure of a platinum haired fourteen-year-old slink into the hospital room.

By the time I could croak out for Malfoy to be thrown off the premises, the medi-witch was already gone, and he was sitting stiffly at my bedside.

"Not you. Literally _anybody_ but you," I warned.

"Not like I enjoy staring at you either," he said. His eyes stopped for just a second too long on my swollen shoulder, and his gaze looked just a gram less smug. "You landed by Mother's music room, just so you know. Right in the black roses. Congratulations."

"What?" I snapped, finally finding some energy in the form of deep annoyance.

"Everybody saw you go down."

" _Excuse me?_ "

"So did you plan to land on your bloody head, then? Right when I was looking?" he demanded, suddenly sounding intensely angry with me which was ballsy even for him, all circumstances considered. "I mean it was a fucking _joke_ , Zabini. You were supposed to kiss and that was it. But to go throwing yourself off the fucking roof over a wanker like Pucey…"

I had never seen him bubble over with that much feeling. Granted, it was still about half the emotional capacity of a normal person, but for Malfoy this was a most enlightening display of an inner world.

"Of course I didn't plan it! I lost my footing and - hang on, did you think I was trying to-"

"What do you want from me, anyway?" he said as he sprung from his seat.

"Malfoy, I don't want any-"

"I didn't push you, alright!"

The more bizarre outbursts he made, the fuller the picture of his inner dilemma became. For once in his life, something resembling guilt flashed across his eyes.

"It doesn't count," he said, his voice wavering and his gaze unable to reach mine, "It doesn't count if I didn't actually push you."

So he was human, after all; what a relief.

"Malfoy, what you did was _so_ blatantly disg-"

"Fine! I'm sorry, alright? I am!" Malfoy hissed, his back to me, his forehead propped against the window overlooking London. "Just don't go killing yourself again."

"Oh … well, um … alright," I said awkwardly, having no idea what to say in this scenario.

There was a minute of silence, before I realized I had a burning question.

"Did people really think I was trying to kill myself?"

"You would have succeeded, if Hewitt's father wasn't there. One hundred seconds is all you get when your head hits the ground from a fifth-floor tower, apparently."

"I'll have to thank Healer Hewitt then. And you, I suppose."

"Why me?" he asked cautiously.

"For helping me cut that awful party short," I laughed. "Who knew all I had to do was pitch myself off the roof."

"It isn't funny, Zabini, you stupid wank-off."

I chortled.

"What did you just call me?"

"You heard it."

He shoved a glass of water into my hand.

"I heard the medi-witch say you haven't drank all day. If you had a brain cell, Zabini, you'd know that's about the dumbest thing you can do when you've fallen _five bloody stories._ "

"Your bedside manner is a force to be reckoned with, Malfoy," I said sarcastically.

"Shut up and drink."

He crossed his arms and sat on the windowsill, staring at me with disdain.

"Can I help you?" I asked, taking painful sips of water.

"Looks like I'm the one doing the helping," he said self-assuredly as he pulled a book out of his bag.

I frowned.

"How long were you planning on staying exactly? Because Ron and Hermione are coming by tomorrow morning and …"

Malfoy's face shifted ever-so-slightly to an expression of chagrin.

"But you can stay until then. I'm sure the medi-witch won't mind."

Malfoy recovered quickly with a snort.

"Yeah, Zabini, like I have nothing better to do."

He tucked his novel back into his bag and strode towards the door.

"What are you reading?" I asked, having no idea why. It was almost like I was _voluntarily_ trying to keep Malfoy around for conversation.

He smirked and showed off the massive hardcover.

"It's past your thinking capacity, Zabini, but if you must know I'm reading the second volume of Grisward's _Philosophies on Transfiguration._ "

I squinted.

"Is that a copy of _Which Wizard_ in the middle there?"

Malfoy's smirk fell, and was replaced quickly by a dull pink flush to his cheeks.

"I was using it as a placehold-"

"Can I have it?" I asked keenly. "I can't keep reading the same copy of _Witch Weekly_. I've taken all the quizzes, and I've gotten disappointing results every time now. Apparently, I'm the 'sexy mute' out of my friend group, which I'm pretty sure isn't even a real thing."

Malfoy threw the magazine at foot of my bed, then rolled his eyes and handed it to me after seeing my pain-filled attempt at getting it.

"I'm going to go do something actually worth my time," he announced proudly. "See you around."

"Yeah, I'll see you at school, Malfoy," I said. "Unless I go chasing after owls again."

I was left with the strangest sense of sorrow when I saw his stupid blond head disappear through the doorway. Apparently I would become well acquainted with the feeling over the next few years.

 


	15. A Burden on the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! Thanks again for reading =)
> 
> ~ Anna

"Don't worry, Malfoy, I'm not here to pitch myself off. Even if I am boring and breastless," I muttered flatly, not taking my eyes off my Potions textbook.

A drawn-out sigh followed my snark, but no words. I like to think he didn't dare speak.

I was surprised to hear the boards next to me creak, as Malfoy sunk onto the filthy Astronomy Tower floor. He stared at me quietly for some time; a minute, maybe two. Long enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

"I never asked you to bring me breakfast," he said.

"And I never asked you to abuse me as a way to stay famous, but I guess neither of us can help what comes most naturally," I retorted, pretending to underline passages in my textbook.

"I guess not."

I slammed my book violently under his nose and began getting up. He pulled me back down by the wrist.

"Not done talking, Zabini."

"That's shocking," I mumbled as I found myself seated on the ground once more.

"Look, I thought it was a stunt."

I groaned hopelessly and began scrambling to get up once more. Again, he pulled me down.

"I realize now that what you did wasn't a stunt, but I've got to be honest, Zabini, I have no idea _what_ it was."

"You're … really that socially daft?" I asked cautiously, afraid that it might indeed be true.

"Watch it," he warned. "But yes, I've got to admit, I have no idea what you're playing at lately."

I sighed. "It was just supposed to be a friendly gesture."

"We aren't friends," he said matter-of-factly. I was beginning to think that was his new mantra.

"Yes, I recognize that, Malfoy," I huffed. "I wasn't exactly walking on hot coals for you. It was toast and fruit spread; didn't realize it would be that controversial."

"And how did you expect that to be perceived among my real friends?" he demanded, looking agitated.

"Friends?" I chortled. "Malfoy, not to be blunt, but you haven't got friends for miles. And I'm sure you believe that's through no fault of your own, but save it. Now I'm going to go combine some foods that you'd frown upon, and hang out with some people you look down upon, and forget I ever thought there was anything in you worth being around. Have a good one."

He stood up after me.

"I hoped it wouldn't come down to this, Zabini, but I think you've forgotten something."

He glanced around before shifting his left sleeve upwards ever so slightly. I looked at him expectantly but that was apparently all he had.

"So?" I snorted.

"Well, let me put it this way … you know a little too much for me to let you off that easily."

"Malfoy, if you're here to kill me you better get it over with, because being around you is making me want to do it myself. Actually, you know what, I think I might just …"

I made like I was about to clamber over the protective railing of the Astronomy tower.

"Zabini, what the — ARE YOU KIDDING ME!"

He shot his arms out and dragged me backwards without a moment's hesitation, resulting in a piercing scream from my end. In my panic at being man-handled (ferret-handled, really), I jerked backwards into him, sending us both to the ground.

I could clearly feel him under me when I landed, and as the bone of his knee jutted into the back of my thigh, I made note of the fact that he was anything but cuddly.

"Well! Guess you don't want me dead, then!" I announced triumphantly as I stood up on wobbly legs and brushed my favourite scratchy orange skirt free from the dust.

He rubbed his elbow while sneering at me. "I do now."

"Did you really think I was going to do it?" I asked, ignoring the extremely irritated vibes he was sending directly my way.

"You don't exactly have a clean record when it comes to plummeting off rooftops," he said tersely. "And anyway, I wasn't finished talking to you. How dare you interrupt with … that."

"Won't do it again," I said, saluting him. He ignored me.

"Are you trying to become my friend, Zabini? Is that what this is?"

I suddenly found my cheeks burning fiercely.

"That's stupid, Malfoy," I said, a little too quickly. "I have friends," I added, in case the fact was ambiguous to those around me.

"Yes, I know you have friends," he said impatiently. "It's just … never mind."

"It's just what?"

"I said never-"

"You should just say it."

"People don't usually bring me food, alright?"

I clenched my jaw. How much longer was I supposed to be berated for this?

"Alright, you arse, I got it already so just-"

"But there are … other things you could do. If you're interested in mending ties."

I furrowed my eyebrows and paused, searching his face for any sign of smugness.

"What other things?" I asked carefully.

His eyes flicked to my left and travelled in an arc to scan the space, before he leaned in close enough that I could see there were little blue flecks in them. Just as I was about to tell him to ask Pansy for … _that_ , I felt him brush lightly against my cheek as he whispered in my ear.

"Help me get out."

"Wh-why are you whispering like that?" I asked, swallowing down a lump. "And what do you mean get out?"

He quirked an eyebrow and gestured silently to his left sleeve.

"Out of the _Death Eaters?_ " I whispered incredulously.

Malfoy nodded.

"But … but I thought—"

"Look, Zabini, I'm not going into details, alright? Suffice to say, I've decided not to die quite yet. That okay with you?"

I agreed hastily, still in disbelief.

"Have you spoken to Professor Dumbledore about it?" I asked.

"You're the only one that knows, and if I want to survive Aunt Bellatrix visiting for Christmas it needs to be kept that way.

"Malfoy, I'm very much on board with rescuing you from the Disgruntled Slytherin Dad Club, but I have to warn you that there's only so much I can do. I don't have the sort of resources that Dumbledore does. He could find you some sort of hiding place, or - or talk to the Order! Or a Prime Minister of something somewhere."

He stiffened.

"I see."

"Hang on, before you start lashing out, I hope you get that I never said I wouldn't help. But I need you to understand that I've got limits."

"Yes, I'm very much aware of your _limits_ , Zabini, I've been working around them for years now," he said with an ill-hidden eye roll.

"Hey, there's no need to—" an overwhelming pain in my chest stopped me mid-sentence. I yelped and brought my palm to it.

"Zabini?"

"I - I was trying to say that there's no need to - _shit!_ "

I swallowed heavily and sank down against the brick wall behind me.

"I don't feel … Malfoy, I don't feel good…" I mumbled, with my fingernails digging into my jumper so hard I could feel the pain through the wool. If truth were to be told, I'd been feeling less than ideal for a couple of weeks at that point, but hoped it would go away once I'd eliminated my habit of eating caramel slathered ice cream at bedtime.

"What now?" he said impatiently.

I started to shake.

"I - I think I'm allergic t-to you."

"It's getting worse," he noted, ignoring my jab at him.

"Y-yes."

"Since when?"

"T-two weeks ago, I think?"

"I thought as much."

I pointed to him as realization dawned on me.

"That's right! S-since the p-prison … damn it, help me s-stop sh-shaking," I pleaded, already exhausted from the convulsions radiating through my flesh.

"I was hoping this wouldn't come up — and it's your fault really, by the way — but when you tagged along with me like a goddamn polyp I couldn't get rid of … you blacked out and … anyway, you need to go speak to my cousin."

"I-I'm not talking to Aurelius, h-he's a creep and h-he knows it."

"No, not on my father's side! You need to talk to that turquoise-haired loser you and Potter love so much. Tonks or whatever."

" _P-professor_ Tonks, Malfoy," I said weakly.

"Shut up, Zabini," he said under his breath as he knelt down in front of me and put two fingers on my pulse point. "You know, what I _should_ be doing is running."

"B-because you're fat?" I asked innocently.

"Because you're probably about to die and I could be found at the scene. Stop squirming," he added.

"Stop pushing o-on my neck!" I protested.

"Do you want to live or not, Zabini?" he demanded as he smacked my hand away. The effects of my episode had suddenly vanished, leaving me feeling bewildered. "Either way, it looks like you will," he said as he helped me up.

"Malfoy, what is wrong with me? Tell me right now!" I demanded, arms crossed, sounding like a mother who'd caught him with his hand in a biscuit jar. "Did you do something?"

He scratched his neck, looking unsettled. "Er … just talk to Andromeda's kid about it, alright?"

I flared my nostrils, suddenly reminded that whenever Malfoy was involved, all I got were bad deals all around.

"I _can't_ talk to Tonks, because you _forbade_ me from saying anything about Azkaban to anyone, or you'd do something dramatic and unnecessary to my already pointless life. Do you not remember the conversation? It went something a little like this: 'Hey, Zabini, go screw yourself.'"

He rolled his eyes and picked up my schoolbag.

"Suit yourself."

"What, that's it?" I asked.

"What else is left? I told you clearly what to do, and you're not doing it," he said simply.

I scurried after him as he began to move towards the stairs, my bag in hand.

"Malfoy, put my stuff down!" I demanded, taking two steps for each of his long-legged strides. "I don't understand you. Is this a cry for attention, or do you just like the way my bag looks with your outfit?"

He ignored me and continued on his way. We had emerged back into the busy hallways of the castle, and heads had begun to turn as I followed after Malfoy.

"This is a publicity stunt, isn't it? You're going to burn my bag in front of everyone to show them that you hate me again, aren't you?" I asked, as realization suddenly dawned on me. I lowered my voice. "Just take the copy of Witch Weekly out before you do, there's a little slip in there that tells me how to get a signed poster of Aidan Lynch and I'd like to retain it for … personal reasons."

Malfoy grimaced, but kept going.

"Didn't know you were a Lynch fan."

"Yeah, I like his er … Wronski Feints?" I said awkwardly. Boy was this one going to come back to bite me.

"You're disgusting, Zabini. And I'm not burning your bag," he said as he tossed a sneer at a Hufflepuff third year.

"Then what are you - oh."

He had stopped by the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"You can get this back after you talk to my cousin."

"Malfoy, why do you care so much?" I asked, hardly phased anymore at his habit of holding my possessions hostage.

"Do it and I'll tell you," he replied.

I crossed my arms. The price of associating with him was becoming downright extortionate.

"Bet you won't."

Before I could debate the issue further, Tonks opened the classroom door, effectively making the decision for me.

"Heidi! I was actually looking to talk to you for a while now!" she said as she beckoned me in. Through the crack of the closing door, I saw Malfoy throw my schoolbag over his shoulder and leave.

"Is that your bag he has?" asked Tonks.

I sighed. He was probably setting off to transfigure my inkwell into something stupid.

"Yeah, he er … he thinks the flowers on the flap go with his skin tone. Who am I to judge?"

I followed Tonks up the classroom stairs into her office. Unlike her predecessor, sickly pink walls and kitten plates weren't Tonks' style. Instead, a record by Hold My Wand was blaring out of a set of Muggle speakers.

I took a seat at her desk, and she slid a tower of fourth-year essays further to the right to be able to look at me.

"I got a note on your behalf the other day. Any idea who this could be from or what it could be about? It was left on my desk."

She slid a wrinkled piece of parchment to me, on which the words had been magically erased and re-written so much that they had left little etchings on the page. The end result was something one would find on a chart at St. Mungo's.

_H. Zabini: presenting signs of narcolepsy, sluggishness, fits. 2 wks — in presence of demts; reaction (+)._

I sucked the breath in through my teeth. I certainly had my theories, but … no way could this have been Malfoy. This was a note from someone who had been carefully observing me, had actually noticed exactly what was going wrong, and had taken the time and care to get the attention of somebody that could help. If Malfoy was behind it, then that would make him:

1\. Observant

2\. Diligent

3\. Caring

"Were you around Dementors recently?" Tonks asked.

"Yeah, but it's not a huge deal."

"You and I both know it's a big deal, Heidi," she said, as she pulled out a quill and began making a mind-map of sorts. "What about the sleeping, sluggishness and fits? Are you experiencing those?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm er … asleep for most of it," I said with an unconvincing shrug. "Although if I'm to be honest, I have been having some pretty intense moments. Bad dreams and the like. Stopping the pre-bed ice cream didn't help either."

Tonks scribbled more notes, then analyzed what she had created with an expression of great concern.

"Heidi, if this is all true then you need to discuss it with somebody qualified to help. I think you've got Latchers."

I blinked blankly at her.

"Sorry?"

"Latchers. They're sort of like a Boggart in that they don't have a corporeal form, but they're certainly more dangerous. I'd liken them more to a Dementor. They usually dwell in the same location - Azkaban has no shortage, that's for certain. They sense a person's vulnerabilities, sometimes their troubled thoughts, and they latch on until that person can no longer handle the feeling of the burden on their soul. It … doesn't end well."

I drew in a breath.

"Should I be seeing Madam Pomfrey then?"

"It wouldn't hurt. But lotions and potions will only do so much against a case of Latchers. A huge part of loosening their grip on you is to lighten what they're holding on to: you have to unburden your soul, Heidi."

"Unburden my _soul?_ " I chortled. It sounded like a tall order to accomplish before dinner.

"You don't do it all at once. It's little steps. You find somewhere safe, with someone you trust deeply — best if they're wiser — and you just … talk."

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever it is that they Latchers are holding onto. You'll know it when you do it. After you have that chat, you should feel a sense of relief - that's a classic sign that you've begun to get rid of them. They're sort of similar to those Muggle conditions: anxiety, depression, and whatnot. Actually there's historically been a big issue of Muggles mistaking one for the other. Of course they get the treatment wrong when they do that."

"I see," I said uncertainly.

"Do you mind me asking what you were doing in Azkaban recently?" Tonks pried, albeit gently.

I smiled awkwardly.

"I can't really … well, I was visiting with a classmate. If we can just leave it at that…"

Tonks made an understanding face and held her hand up.

"Say no more."

She stood up to see me out.

"Oh, and by the way, Heidi; if you're ever in need of a chat, I am _always_ up for it."

I smiled and slipped outside. I found Malfoy brooding underneath one of the staircases with my bag beside him.

"Well? Did you get to the bottom of it?" he asked impatiently. "You better not have said more than you had to."

"I did get to the bottom of it actually," I stated as I took my bag from him.

"Let it be known that I only did it so Pottykins won't come to me screaming murder the next time you pass out. I'm only interested in taking that credit when it's due," he said with an ill-hidden smirk. "And anyway, I think that more than covers for your little toast and marm—"

"I don't have time for you right now, Malfoy," I announced as I rifled through my belongings. True to form, my inkwell was now filled with glue and my packet of strawberry cauldron cakes was missing.

Malfoy snorted.

"Excuse me? Why is that?"

"Because I have to go figure out how to unburden my soul," I said matter-of-factly, before taking off for the Great Hall.

 


	16. An Experiment in Kindness

"So did you do it, Zabini?"

"Do what?" I asked as I crushed a dandelion flower for our skin soothing potion.

"Unburden your soul."

I sighed. I had been trying to think of someone to talk to for the past three days but nobody seemed qualified or pitiful enough to handle the amount of baggage that had made my soul its home.

"No."

"Well hurry up and do it, then. Can't have you croaking mid-way through the school year."

So neither of us officially wanted the other dead. Small victories, I supposed.

"It's not that easy, you idiot."

"Why? You can't go cry about your problems to the Mudblood until you feel better? I thought that's all you did anyway."

I ground up a sea snail shell with a bit more brutality than generally necessary.

"As it turns out, Malfoy, after some insomnia-laden deliberation, I've come to realize that the burden on my soul is _you_."

He closed his mouth into a thinly-pursed scowl. I smiled vexatiously.

"Now tell me again: is it Harry I should discuss you and your dark secrets with? Or Ron? No, hang on, you suggested Hermione, right? She is _ever_ the excellent listener."

"Don't you dare illuminate the Potty gang on anything concerning me."

I rolled my eyes.

"I don't know if illuminating is the word I'd use to describe your existence on this planet, but sure. Either way, you see my dilemma, correct?"

He smirked and leaned back to teeter on two chair legs.

"Well, well. So many friends, and no one to talk to. How do you even know I'm what's bothering you? For all you know, you have a deep unsettled issue with somebody else, fully unrelated to me, and that's what they're latching onto. Maybe you're in love, but the poor man knows how much of an utter—"

I hooked his chair leg with my foot and gave it a good, hearty yank, leading him to panic satisfyingly as he bid to steady himself.

"Oh, no, Malfoy. I'm pretty sure it's you."

Snape cleared his throat.

"Once you have finished brewing what I'm certain is unfit for even a troll's consumption, you will find your seats and wait for me to address you as a group," demanded Snape from the front of the classroom. "And Ms. Abbott, if you melt one more cauldron I shall personally see to it that you are expelled."

I cringed as Hannah went ruefully scarlet. Malfoy transferred our potion, which was only a half-shade yellower than it ought to have been, into a vial and brought it to Snape, who took it from him with a brief nod. His eyes travelled to me and his upper lip curled, leading me to estimate that our grade would land somewhere between an O and a D. Malfoy took his seat once more.

"I'll do it," he muttered.

"What?" I asked.

"That anti-Latcher bullshit my cousin told you about. The usual room, tonight at eight."

"Malfoy, you aren't even _half_ qualified."

"Who else've you got, Zabini?" he said plainly. "Can't have you running to Potty and the King."

I groaned, but it was drowned out by the sound of Snape's voice.

"As you dunces may have suspected, the practical portion of your FWOT training is coming up next week. If I had my say in it, you wouldn't be permitted to practice magic on Flobberworms, much less living, breathing patients, but the rest of the faculty has decided to place a sad amount of faith in you. You will be going to St. Mungos. You will be expected to behave yourselves in a manner that is fit for your occupation. You will _not_ display the same sort of mediocrity that I have seen repeatedly in my lessons. What is it, Mr. Goldstein?"

"How will we be getting there, sir?" Anthony asked.

"The same way you got here, Goldstein. On the backs of the rarest of unicorns," drawled Snape sarcastically.

"Hogwarts Express it is then," I muttered to Malfoy, who smirked.

"Any other thought-provoking questions?" Snape scanned the room, lips thin. "You will be assigned to a principal Healer and will do whatever it is they ask of you. This includes recognizing, handling and even brewing potions should the situation require it. I do pity the poor souls." He waved his hand. "Dismissed."

I grabbed my bag from under our shared desk. Malfoy smirked sardonically.

"What?" I said, already preparing to be annoyed.

"Oh, nothing, Zabini. Only that _I'm_ doing something for _your_ benefit."

"I don't think they give out badges for a minimal level of decency, Malfoy," I said regretfully, patting him on the shoulder.

"You better show up," he warned me.

"I'll try my very best not to," I promised.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"I can't believe I signed myself up for this garbage," Malfoy complained as we stood outside the door to the Room of Requirement.

"You're singing an awfully different tune from earlier, you know! And for the record, I'm not thrilled either," I stated. I closed my eyes and tried to picture whatever it was that I was supposed to be picturing.

"Hurry up, before all of Gryffindor house sees this."

"I have to make it comfortable, Malfoy!" I hissed, eyes still closed. Nothing was coming to mind.

"Just put a big, furry red sofa in there and be done with it. I know you want to."

My eyes shot open.

"Is that what you think my style is?" I chortled. "Seventies pornography?"

Malfoy's mouth twitched impatiently.

"I don't _care_ what your style is, Zabini, just come up with something so we can facilitate this little nightmare."

I glared at him, then cleared my throat and shut my eyes. He was on to something with the seating idea, but not furry. And not a couch … no way was he sitting next to me for this. Then again, having him across from me would be a nightmare as well; he'd just glower the whole time.

"Okay, I think I did it," I announced, pushing past him to open the door to my creation.

Malfoy's eyebrows snapped together at the sight of the space. He strode in and took a good look around.

"Are you serious?"

He grabbed a small rubber ball from the basket near my chair, which was elevated three quarters of a meter above his to prevent him being able to look down on me. "And what is this?"

"Something to throw at you when you're being an arse," I explained.

He scowled and sat down, with me doing the same. We proceeded to live a very off-putting set of awkward glances and silenced sighs. At the very least, it was done in relative physical comfort. The room had transformed into something bright and airy, with yellow wallpaper and long, arched windows that opened out onto the school grounds without letting the cold in. A near-replica of the Gryffindor fireplace was lit to my left, the flames putting me at ease somewhat. Off to the side, however, there was a furry red sofa whose presence I could not account for.

"Maybe we need an arbitrator," I said unsurely after five minutes of silence had passed.

"What I need, Zabini, is an _Avada_ to the head after we're through with this," he said as he bounced one of my weapons on the floor in front of him. No matter where the little ball went, he seemed to snatch it out of the air with frightening precision.

"You really gave up Quidditch?" I asked.

Malfoy flared his nostrils and whipped the ball back into the basket beside me.

"Sorry," I muttered, not having realized I hit a sore spot. "Let me try to move this along. I just don't really know what I'm meant to be _doing_ , that's the problem. I only know that it has to be somewhere comfortable, with someone I trust who's wiser than I am — which I'm pretty sure is the hitch here — and apparently, if we do it properly, I'll know it worked because I'll feel 'relieved'."

Malfoy leaned back, arms crossed.

"Well should we start from the top then?" he asked, taking me off guard.

"What?"

"Air your grievances, Zabini, you know you want to. What is it, the summer we were eight, when I dismembered your stuffed Niffler? The time I pushed you into the bog? The Christmas I told everyone your bra size was negative zero?"

I felt my face burn, as I was forced to relive buried memories.

"I … don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know, Malfoy. I guess that's why we're doing this; there's just so much of everything."

Malfoy didn't look pleased.

" _Try,_ " he drawled.

"Okay, well … I … I hate the amount of gel you wear in your hair."

"I'm not wearing any gel in my hair."

"Well I hate when you do," I said.

Malfoy shook his head hopelessly. "Fine. Please accept my deepest apologies for the gel in my hair."

"Thanks," I said, hoping he would be this cooperative for the whole evening.

I passed some time thinking of what next to criticize him on, whilst absentmindedly bouncing a red rubber ball up and down. I dropped it on the second bounce, earning myself a satisfied smirk from Malfoy. It was all the inspiration I needed.

"I also don't like the face you make when you're about to say something shitty."

"Well, sorry for my face then. Are you fixed now?" he asked impatiently, though I knew he knew better.

"I despise when you cause problems for people, and then act like you don't care. It's a complete hit and run." I was now beginning to take full advantage of this newfound opportunity to criticize Malfoy with the unspoken promise that I wouldn't get hexed in return.

"Yes, I _am_ quite a monster, aren't I?" said Malfoy sarcastically. "With my hair gel, and my face, and my not giving a shit about causing people's problems."

"Well don't you think you should have — at some point leading up to now — given a shit?" I spluttered incredulously.

"No, I really don't. Next."

"How can you _be_ this way? Look at the mess you're in because of it!" I was aghast. I had never seen someone so determined to be wrong. "Don't you realize that you didn't have to do any of this?"

"Any of what, Zabini?"

"You didn't have to be such a jerk all these years; nobody would have thought any less of you."

He rolled his eyes. "This again?"

"It's true! Would it really have been so horrible if you hadn't taken my childhood friends from me? Or my brother? Or my whole family, at that? Would you really have been unable to live with yourself if we had stayed civil to each other?"

"So that's what you've been harbouring," he said smugly. "I see."

"I haven't been harbouring anything," I said. "It's just the truth, that's all."

"No, it's your version of the truth. You're leaving out the fact that you got yourself sorted into Gryffindor all by your lonesome, and none of us wanted that sort of insufferable crap on our hands."

"You know what, Malfoy? It isn't actually my fault that I got sorted into Gryffindor. And you certainly didn't need to put a target on my head over it," I argued.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

"You put a target on your own damn head, Zabini, by sticking your nose into things you didn't need to and walking around with a victim complex long after you were a victim of anything. You're still doing it now. Look at you!"

"I don't consider myself a victim, Malfoy. It's just a damn shame, that's all."

He rolled his eyes. "What is?"

"The fact that we wasted years — summer after summer, Christmas after Christmas — making each other miserable. The fact that your sole purpose in life is derived from coming into my home and into my life and dominating every piece of it that I could possibly stand to enjoy. I mean I can't say a thing to you under my _own roof!_ How messed up is that, Malfoy? My own mother cares more about your feelings than she does mine."

"No, you daft lunatic, she doesn't; she just doesn't want to set your father up to fail, and my family happens to have his finances by the balls. It's business, Zabini, not pleasure," he argued.

"Oh please! My mother is obsessed with you. You and Blaise are all she cares about. I'll bet you any money that if you ask her what my Hogwarts schedule is this year, the only reason that she'll know it is because it's the same as yours and Blaise's."

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"No, Zabini, she pities me." He said it slowly, as if he was talking to an infant. "The same way you do."

"I don't pity you, Malfoy. You've lived a good, privileged life."

It seemed to have taken a moment for Malfoy's fury at that statement to properly charge itself, but once it had, it caused me to jump backwards in my seat.

"You really want my life? You really bloody want it? _Have it then!_ Merlin knows I don't fucking want it anymore!" he roared.

I shook my head, trying to keep tears from welling up.

"I don't want … it isn't that, Malfoy; I'm not jealous of you."

I got myself under control quickly, and wiped the snot from my nose.

"Then what?" he hissed. "What the _hell_ do you want from me, Zabini?"

"I can't have what I want," I said, with a shrug. "It's pointless."

" _What. Do. You. Want._ "

I looked him straight in the face.

"I want the lost time back. The time that you took from us - us as friends. I want it back."

Malfoy's lips parted in surprise.

"Beg pardon?"

I sprung up from my seat, an epiphany brewing in my brain.

"You were right about me not fitting in with Harry and the rest of them. But you're wrong about why. It's not that they aren't my very best friends, because they are—" I raised a hand to silence him before he got a chance to interject. "But there was a me before them. And whether I like it or not, that me was with my family, and with your family, and with you. And although I don't condone a minute of the things you do, you are a significant part of my life — I can admit that much. And you don't have to feel the same way, but I'll bet you ten galleons that there's at least a part of you that does."

He looked up at me as if he had never seen anything quite so insane in his life.

"You want to be my friend? _Now?_ "

I shrugged.

"Why, Malfoy, you got something more important going on?"

"Zabini, I can almost appreciate the sentiment — barring all the reasons the sentiment annoys me — but don't you think associating with a suspected Death Eater isn't actually in _your_ best interest? Do you have literally no sense of self-preservation?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Hang on — is this part of some sort of idiotic ploy to save me?" he pressed.

I laughed.

"Merlin, no. You'll be a goner by next year. I know you; you've set your mind to something. You claim to want out of the Death Eaters, but I don't think you do. So I'm not stupid enough to think I'll save you at all." I walked to the massive set of windows, and watched the school grounds bustle with life. "But we have the school year left, don't we. So we ought to make it count before we go our separate ways for good."

"What makes you think I want anything to do with you?"

I shrugged.

"Nothing. But I think it's getting harder for you to justify _not_ having anything to do with me. I'm here for you, Malfoy. Despite everything. I guess you could call it an experiment in kindness."

Malfoy didn't look even remotely satisfied with this explanation.

"What's in this for you, Zabini?"

"Closure, civility, and a break from having to keep a hex at the tip of my tongue every day."

"And for me?" he asked.

"Comfort. Honesty. A chance to do the right thing."

He cursed under his breath.

"And, if you still want it, and can show that you do — which I very much doubt — my unyielding efforts to get you out of this hellhole of a situation with minimal collateral damage. The Gryffindor way."

Malfoy rubbed his temples, digesting my truths. After a drawn out moment of thought, he looked up at me from his armchair.

"You recognize of course, Zabini, that you put 'Gryffindor' and 'minimal collateral damage' in the same sentence?"

"We're not half bad at the helping people thing, you know. People that actually want it."

Malfoy took time to think. It felt like an eternity. I fiddled with the buttons of my cardigan as I waited, feeling completely exposed to him.

"Alright, Zabini, here's how this is going to go down. In public, I reserve the right to act however the situation warrants, especially around our actual friends. I don't need more problems right now, and you are basically a walking, talking problem. In private … " He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed tightly, like he was deeply ashamed of what he was about to say. "In private I will treat you the same way I usually treat Blaise."

"Ew, please don't do that. I really don't want to spend my days comparing bits with you in the changing rooms, and I don't have the right parts anyway."

Malfoy's eyes snapped open, and he looked positively ready to strangle me.

"Alright, first of all, I have never 'compared bits' with anybody anywhere, Zabini." He groaned and sank in his chair. "You see? You're already making this impossible!"

I raised my hands as a gesture of peace.

"Sorry, sorry. I just overheard you have a bit of an affinity for — well anyway, we'll keep your bits out of it for now."

"Zabini, if you continue to bring up my genitals, I am going to have no choice but to assume that you're asking for access to them," he said sternly.

I blushed in spite of myself.

"We'll er … we'll hammer out the details later."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"Of our _truce_ , Malfoy! I meant we'll hammer out the details of our truce!"

"Yes, I'd much prefer that; that was just about all of the torture I can handle for now."

He grabbed his black leather schoolbag and shook his head, muttering something dark on his way out. I lingered behind and, once he had left, closed my eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to suss out the status of my burdened soul. It was as miserable as before.

Draco Malfoy, as it turned out, was not the answer to my problems, despite being their largest producer. However — and I had no way of knowing this until much, much later — as Draco Malfoy draped himself lazily across a sofa and watched the lake drift past his common room windows, he had suddenly realized that I would be the perfect answer to his.

 


	17. Stronger Dependencies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Hope you're doing well. As always, I hope you enjoy this latest update and let me know what you think!

"Are you excited, you guys?" I asked as the countryside passed us by. Blaise, Malfoy and Padma were sitting with me on the Express. Blaise was fast asleep, and Malfoy was staring at his fingernails, disinterested. Padma was the only one who had acknowledged me, and she did so with a nod.

Malfoy looked up and was met with my cross expression. He clenched his jaw.

"Deeply excited," he said resentfully. He must have been afraid that I was going to push him into some bizarre display of forced friendship just to prove a point. I didn't care to do so.

"Do you think it'll be complicated stuff? Or things we're already good at?" I asked Padma, trying not to betray my fear of ineptitude.

"A mixture," said Padma. "I heard they'll rotate us between floors each day, so that we all get to experience a bit of everything. I'd quite like that, I think."

"Yeah, me too," I said. "Where are you staying for the few days we're there?"

"The Leaky Cauldron, probably. Anthony and Terry have got a room there too," she said.

"Did you hear that, Zabini? Boot _and_ Goldstein. You can get the full package."

I scowled at Malfoy.

"Potty and the Weasel King more your style still?"

I shook my head at him, slowly and threateningly. We'd be talking about this later, and he knew it. By the look on his face, he immediately regretted it, too.

"Where are you staying, Heidi?" asked Padma, apparently deciding that it was high time to cut the tension.

"I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll do the Cauldron. Bit far from St. Mungo's though."

"How about you, er … Draco?" Padma questioned.

Malfoy looked at her with some surprise at being spoken to.

"My family's got a suite on hold at The Vauntmure."

"Of course you do," I heard Padma mutter under her breath. "Sounds nice," she said.

"It _is_ 'nice'," said Malfoy cuttingly. He abandoned the conversation and settled for staring out the window with his arms crossed for the rest of the ride. It was possibly the longest silence I'd ever seen him engage in — he had kept it going all the way to the exit of King's Cross, where it was broken by Blaise.

"Good break from the usual, isn't it, Draco?" he said. To my knowledge, this was the first time Blaise had acknowledged him since the dorm-burning incident a couple of weeks ago.

Malfoy looked at him lazily.

"If you say so."

"I do," Blaise said resolutely.

"And what's so good about it, exactly? Needed a break from snogging Sally Perkins in the Slytherin common room, did you, Zabini?"

"Ew," I commented wisely.

"Stay out of it, Zabini," said Malfoy.

"Okay, you've really got to stop calling both of us 'Zabini', because it's getting a little difficult to keep track of who should be doing what," I said.

"Easy. When the implication is that somebody should continue talking, it's directed at Blaise. When the implication is that somebody should shut up, I'm talking to you."

I scowled while my brother snickered. Malfoy smirked at him, just like old times. Suddenly, joining Padma, Terry, and Anthony's conversation was looking like a far more appealing way to spend our walk to St. Mungo's.

"I'll let you two bond," I said dryly, before pushing my way forward to the Ravenclaws. I spent the rest of the walk in an animated discussion with Terry about our first Weird Sisters concert, which had been in Scotland with neither of us knowing the other had been there.

Our group of sixteen stopped at an old, brick-laden department store a short walk from the station. Anthony had a quick word with the mannequin, which gave a nod and allowed us into the building. Through a series of annoyed grunts and curt exchanges with the Welcome Witch, every pair was given a schedule, a set of violently magenta robes, and directions to our Principal Healer's office. Malfoy and I would be beginning on the third floor, which was dedicated to potion and plant poisonings.

"You knock first," I whispered to Malfoy as we stood outside our principal's office. Gryffindor bravery indeed.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and rapped on the door confidently.

"Come in," came a female voice. We entered the room just as a gleaming, silver-coloured man sprinted past, followed by a set of junior and senior Healers shouting after him to stop. Malfoy and I exchanged a glance.

"Ah, Mr. Babill's out again. He really shouldn't be trying to escape until he finishes his round of antidotes, but he's anxious to go see his family."

Our principal was a witch in her early forties with dark, pointed features and thin, long eyebrows. Her hair was tied up into a vintage Parisian head scarf.

"Albina Acantha," she said as she stuck out her hand to me.

"Heidi Zabini," I replied, trying to shake it in the utmost of professional manners. She smiled and moved on to Malfoy.

"A Zabini, a Malfoy, and I. That is a _lot_ of Slytherin in one ward."

I hesitated, wondering if I should come clean from the start. It was usually best to start the outcasting process early, rather than delaying disappointment.

"I'm a Gryffindor, actually."

Albina's face broke into a smile.

"Even better. You'll keep us in line then."

I threw Malfoy a smile, pleasantly surprised at this. He looked unimpressed.

"Now, then, I'll explain to you two how this works. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has let on that this program is in its trial stages, so forgive me and the hospital if there are a few flaws. But the general idea is that you two see the practical side of healing magic, and most importantly, begin to develop a bedside manner. Now, everybody has their own, and it's perfectly acceptable to differ. But you want to start developing one now so you can really mould it by the time you're practicing."

Malfoy shifted beside me, and I wondered if he was trying to picture the same otherworldly image I was: Draco Malfoy with a respectful - perhaps even soothing - bedside manner. I couldn't even fathom what that looked like.

"If you two would like to change into your robes and meet me in the Rackharrow ward, that would be wonderful."

Malfoy looked down at the robes he was clutching.

"These are pink."

"They're magenta," I corrected him.

"Actually, they're Razzle Dazzle Rose, and greatly popular with the children in this establishment," Albina said firmly. "Restrooms are on your right upon exiting."

Malfoy said nothing and left. I hurried to keep up with him, too excited to let the opportunity to mock him drop.

"Yes, Malfoy, _think of the children._ " I laughed airily. I couldn't remember seeing him wear anything other than black, grey, or green for the entirety of my knowing him. This had all the signs of becoming a refreshing vision.

And what a vision it was.

"You look like an absolute idiot!" I said gleefully when he emerged. His hair looked even whiter, which I didn't know was possible, and a healthy pink glow had come into his skin thanks to the reflectiveness of the pink silk robes.

"You think you look better, Zabini?" he snapped.

"I _really_ do."

Malfoy straightened his collar smartly, which made all of this even more hilarious.

"Fine, Zabini. Let's go deal with some plant poisonings. Hope you're good with your Herbology."

That was enough to bring me back to planet Earth. I cleared my throat awkwardly and made my way to the ward, trailing behind Malfoy as always, whose one stride was equivalent to my two.

The beds in the ward were only half-filled, which was just about the only relieving factor. I suddenly understood how badly one had to be injured to be put in a St. Mungo's bed. One woman's entire face appeared to have erupted in painful yellow blisters the size of large gobstones. An old wizard's eyes kept leaking a black and bloody mixture. Horrific noises filled the ward - a mixture of groans, shrieks and sobs, many of which seemed to be begging for death.

Wayne Hopkins and Hannah Abbott were already there with their principal, an older wizard with shiny gold hair not unlike Lockhart's. He seemed to be going into something extremely detailed regarding the effects of Death-Cap Draught on children.

Albina brought us to the far end of the ward, where a young woman was scrabbling at her skin whilst laughing hysterically.

"Hello Ms. Yearwood. I've brought some students with me today if that's alright."

Anything seemed alright to Ms. Yearwood at that point. She busied herself by scratching the palm of each hand back and forth.

"Can either of you tell me why patients such as Ms. Yearwood would be put in this ward, as opposed to on the Fourth Floor, where we house those with symptoms not unlike hers?" Albina asked. "No need to raise your hand, by the way. We talk as colleagues here."

I blushed and lowered my hand.

"Is it because the magical damage here is reversible?" I suggested. "It's clear she's been poisoned, and it's affecting her mentally, but the damage may not be permanent."

"Very good, Heidi. That's entirely correct. Now, you might not know the answer to this one but it's worth asking just in case. Do either of you have any guesses as to which potion or plant caused this?"

"Venom from a viper might be a part of it," hypothesized Malfoy.

"Why do you say that?" asked Albina, looking surprised.

"Brown spots on her palms and neck. Darker fingernail beds, too."

"Interesting. I would have thought the potion was most recognizable by the scratching induced. But you're right — Lancehead venom is a key ingredient. It was a fashionable addition in its time to many poisons. You-Know-Who's followers quite prefer it; bit of an homage to his love of vipers."

I wondered if Malfoy's edge in recognizing poisons stemmed from his studies, or from the fact that his family kept an extensive collection that he had no doubt been introduced to. Either way, it was perhaps the only helpful thing about his embroilment in the dark arts. By the end of the day, I was getting quite the primer on the effects of various poisons from him, and in exchange, I had taught him how to spot the difference between a mouth-gluing hex and a mouth-gluing potion.

"The hex doesn't leave a residue on your mouth. Remember in first year when I used it on you? No tacky residue, right? But the potion leaves a sticky film when it wears off, like it did with Parkinson after I put some in her tea at New Year's dinner last year," I explained.

"You're a real monster, Zabini, you know that?" Malfoy said.

"Yeah? Why don't you ask her what she said to me that made me slip it to her in the first place?" I snapped.

Albina returned with some gloves and poultice.

"Last thing for today, you two. We'll need to apply this to Ms. Yearwood's palms and upper chest. A nice thick layer to kick off her treatment. Then we go thinner as the week progresses. I'll be a room over if you need anything."

Malfoy and I nodded, and worked in perfect unison, both catching her arms when she tried to scratch the other.

"Well, guess we're done for the day," I said as I peeled off blood-soaked gloves. We left the ward with Wayne and Hannah, who gave us a reserved smile and and scurried off to their own devices. "I know the gang are heading out to Florean Fortescue's to celebrate the day; I'm sure you're invited."

"Nobody's actually invited me to Fortescue's, so I highly doubt that."

"I'm inviting you," I said. "I thought that was obvious."

"I'm alright, Zabini. I've had a long day dealing with you."

"There's no one around; you're supposed to be nice to me now."

"I've had a 'unique' day associating with you. Better?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Seriously, Malfoy, some ice cream would probably do you good. You can get the disgusting, morose kind — Rum Raisin or whatever you're into. "

"Earl grey and lavender."

I felt my point had been made.

"See! I'm sure Mr. Fortescue's got all the horrible flavours just waiting for you."

"Thank you for the invitation, Zabini, but as I already said, I have other plans."

"What other plans?" I asked.

"Yeah, because that's your business."

"Well, alright. But if you'd like to join us later, you're welcome to. I'll probably stay at The Armitage with Blaise so if you need anything non-stupid, just come by."

Fairly pleased with the way the day had gone, I headed to the lift whilst Malfoy made for the stairs. I had originally planned to go straight to the ice cream parlour, but couldn't resist stopping by the fifth floor tea room for a cup of coffee to go.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar white-blond head exiting the gift shop. I squinted. Was Malfoy carrying _flowers?_

There were many things that looked unnatural when Draco Malfoy carried them - cute animals, muggle objects, and a beautiful bouquet of white daffodils just to name a few. I wondered briefly if he was carrying them to give to Albina in an attempt to make himself look better than me. That was more than enough reason for me to chuck the coffee and maneuver through the crowd after him.

He went through a series of passages that seemed to lead to another hospital building, and it was only due to the fact that a group of junior healers were on their way there that I was able to stay hidden out of his view.

I saw Malfoy pull his pink robes off over his head and walk up to a reception desk, reverted back to his usual black-wearing self.

"Excuse me, young lady. Where do you think you're off to?"

A grey-haired mediwitch stood in my way.

"Oh, I uh … I'm with the school."

She looked skeptically at my magenta robes, before nodding.

"Right, right. Sorry 'bout that. Forgot about bring your child to work day today," she said with a a hearty laugh at her own joke. "Alright, go on. Healer Madley should be around somewhere."

I cursed under my breath and hurried to where I thought Malfoy may have gone. My hunch turned out to be right, as I stumbled on a door left ajar with Narcissa Malfoy's name on it. I caught a glimpse inside the room, and found that had all the makings of a hotel suite, if it weren't for the characteristic smell of hospital floor cleaner.

"Draco!" Narcissa ran to throw her arms around her son. He did not hesitate to reciprocate the familial affection. "Did you sneak off here to see me, darling?" she asked. He handed her the white bouquet, which she placed in a vase on her bedside with a smile. I flattened myself against the wall outside the room in the meantime, and stayed quite thankful that the corridor was empty.

"I'm here with the school, actually, Mother."

"What for, darling?" she asked.

"The Healer program."

"Right! You wrote to me about it last week, I've just remembered. I'm sorry, pet. My mind lately, it just hasn't been…"

She reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"I always forget, you know. How much you've grown up these past few years; how much you've been forced to grow up."

Malfoy shrugged.

"It's normal, Mother. I'm not afraid of it."

"I never thought you would ever become this brave, my sweet."

Malfoy did not look like he had been complimented.

"You're making me sound like Potter."

Her face had suddenly become stern.

"Harry Potter is not brave. Harry Potter is a fool, and so is anybody that extends him their support. As for you, I hope you are taking care of yourself, Draco. We've a long year ahead of us now. You especially."

"I know mother. I'm doing my best," he replied irritably.

"You've lost weight."

"I've grown taller, so it appears that way," he lied.

"Are you isolating yourself from your friends?"

"I don't need friends, Mother."

"You don't need tag-alongs, that's for certain. But you need at least somebody, Draco. Even your father — even he had a select handful. What about the Zabinis' boy? Blaise?"

I started at the sound of my family name.

"He's alright."

"And the girl? Has she been giving you any trouble this year?"

I suddenly felt very exposed in my blindingly pink robes.

"She's been fine."

_Basically a rave review, Malfoy-style._

"Am I to understand that Estella's finally put some sense into her?"

"I wouldn't go that far. But she's decent to work with."

"I thought you were with Pansy, darling," asked Narcissa, the concern in her voice evident. I didn't have to think very long to know which of us she preferred for her 'darling' to associate with.

Malfoy sighed impatiently.

"That was before, Mother, remember? And anyway, that was a complete disaster. Zabini's better by far."

A bubble of pride floated through my body. I had finally heard it all - Draco Malfoy, admitting that _I,_ Heidi Zabini, was better than Pansy Parkinson. Mind you, it wasn't at anything exciting … but still.

"Darling, there's something I need to tell you."

"About Zabini?"

"Who? No, no. Not her. It's best if you sit for this, Draco."

I saw Malfoy sit down hesitantly.

"Have you read the things that that Skeeter woman has been writing about us lately?"

"No. Those leaflets got banned from the castle," Malfoy said.

"That explains it. I meant to write to you about this yesterday, but I know you've got so much on your plate…"

"Write to me about what, Mother? You aren't making any sense," he said with a confused frown.

"They've found a program for me. They say it's the first of its kind - it's exceptionally successful for … stronger dependencies such as mine. But it's far, Draco. It's in France. I just couldn't—"

"Mother, you have to go." Malfoy's voice cracked slightly as he said this. "Don't worry about me, I've got it handled. It's—"

"Listen very carefully, Draco, and try to understand: they got to the Manor the night before last. Bella told me after the fact. I cannot leave."

"What do you mean they got to the Manor?" he asked, a hint of frenzy in his voice.

"It has been gutted. The entire west wing has been blown to bits. I shall never forgive Lucius for this. The Dark Lord, he is showing displeasure. And I'm afraid it will be towards you soon, my love. He has said you have been too slow. It is already late November. "

"Mother, I _have_ been—"

She threw herself around him.

"I know, my darling boy, I know you have been trying. But perhaps Severus can help."

"I have help."

"Who?"

"Mother, don't worry about it, alright! What's going on at the Manor? Did they take anything?" he asked frantically.

"I don't know. I can't go to look, and nor can your father for obvious reasons. It's a disaster, Draco. They've probably stolen all the artifacts they can get their filthy hands on."

"I'll go."

"You will do no such thing!" she gasped.

"I will go, Mother. We haven't got a choice. We need to know what's been taken, and we need to collect everything that hasn't. I wouldn't trust Aunt Bellatrix within an inch of the place, and nor should you."

"You're not wrong, my sweet. I just worry…"

"I'll come visit you the minute I'm finished moving everything. Is there anything specific?"

I saw her hesitate momentarily before scribbling something on a nearby notepad. She handed it to her son, who scanned the page and nodded.

"Please be careful, Draco. Please."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Oh Merlin, Zabini, not _now._ "

"You're not going. You'd have to be mental!" The heat drained from my face as I saw his determined expression. "My god, you _are_ mental."

"Move," he demanded, pushing past me. I wasn't a very formidable roadblock, admittedly.

"You can't go there without backup! Malfoy, come on, be reasonable just once. If someone put in the effort to destroy a massive part of Malfoy Manor, exactly what makes you think they're not coming back for the other parts?"

He whipped around furiously.

"Eavesdrop on my conversations one more time, Zabini, and I swear to Merlin and Morgana that—"

"How are you even thinking of getting there? You live by Warminster. It's at least a solid two hours by train from here and it's already getting to be seven o'clock," I said.

"What does that matter?"

"Well it's just … it'll be past my bedtime, won't it."

He fixed me a look.

"Excuse me?"

"I'd prefer it if we could find an alternative means of transportation. We could try the Knight Bus," I suggested.

Malfoy cursed and began walking away from me, but I followed quickly on his heels.

"If we're taking the train, we really ought to—"

"If you must know, Zabini, the fireplace in my hotel suite is connected to the Manor's, so I'll be using that. _Alone._ "

"Are you stupid?" I spluttered.

Malfoy stopped short.

"What?"

"You can't just Floo into wreckage. For all you know the fireplace has been destroyed. Even worse, the people that did this could be waiting there."

"So what do you suggest, then, Zabini?" he asked, as if it were a challenge.

"I suggest we Floo to my house. Isn't your suite connected to that too? I remember it was in third year, because your family came straight from there into our piano room and gave me a heart attack in the middle of my lessons."

"I suppose it is," he muttered skeptically.

"We can fly to your place from there — it's only fifteen minutes. Blaise keeps an extra few brooms in his closet. You know how to fly on a Comet 290?" I asked as I led the way out of the hospital.

"Zabini, I'd know how to fly on your House Elf's mop if I had to."

Although it was only seven in the evening, the sky was dark and the city streets were glimmering with silvery light. Shops had begun decorating for Christmas, even though it was still a month away. I found myself wanting nothing more than a quiet evening at a coffee shop, even if it was with Malfoy. Even he became reasonably tolerable over a warm mug of hot chocolate.

"We should go here sometime this week after St. Mungo's," I said absentmindedly, pointing to a cozy looking café inside a bookstore.

"If you want."

I blinked, realizing what had just happened.

"Did … did you just agree to have coffee with me?"

"Why, is that not friendly enough for you?" he sneered defensively. "Did you want me to write you a love poem like the Weaslette did for Potter? Or do we need a secret friendship dance? You'll have to forgive me, Zabini, I'm not very good at associating with you people."

"No. Er … coffee would be fine," I said awkwardly as we carved our path to his hotel. "Coffee would be good."

 


	18. Completely Unnatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope you're all doing well. I just wanted to leave a note and let everyone know that I'll be switching to a weekly update schedule since the inevitable has happened - and by that I mean school getting in the way of my fun :(
> 
> Thanks very much for reading the previous chapter and leaving some love! And as always, let me know what you think as it really does have an impact in terms of my knowing if I'm on the right track, as well as where to take the story next.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

Once I saw the mounds of crushed stone and glass where Malfoy Manor's west wing once stood, I darted for the site, wand and broomstick forgotten.

"No, Zabini," warned Malfoy lowly, just in time to keep us hidden in the trees. He gripped the back of my jacket so hard that it rode up my back. "You said it yourself — we have to be careful."

"They've … they've absolutely destroyed it," I whispered shakily, regaining some sense. I turned to him to check if he was seeing what I was. It appeared he was.

Although his hand was gripping me firmly, his eyes were glued to the wreckage, scanning it back and forth, over and over, as if he didn't know how make anything of it.

"I'm so sorry, Malfoy," I said, his despair playing on my empathetic habits.

This seemed to snap him out of his trance. He looked down at me, an unsettled expression on his face.

"Why."

I didn't quite understand the question.

"Pardon?"

"Why are exactly are you sorry, Zabini? You hate my home."

"Yes, but I don't hate _you_."

In the shadow cast by the moonlight above, he looked nothing like the schoolyard bully I had grown to abhor. There was something docile and approachable about him, and for a sickening moment I thought I felt something like wanting in my stomach as I took him in.

"At least one of us doesn't," he said. "Because I'm going to be honest with you, Zabini, I despise myself right now."

"You shouldn't," I said gently.

" _I did this_. _I_ pissed them off. _Me._ "

"Your mother said that your father—"

"I don't give a damn what my mother says, Zabini. I know what I did, and now it's cost us a place to live."

"You can stay at my house." I didn't even need to think — the offer felt perfectly natural.

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow.

"Well that's new."

It certainly was. I couldn't remember a time I wasn't on an active mission to get him _out_ of my house, let alone into it.

A dragging sound brought our attentions forward. I sucked in a nervous breath, but released it just as quickly when I realized it was only one of the Malfoys' House Elves dragging broken furniture from out of the wreck in an attempt to dust it. Without warning, Malfoy had begun to storm in its direction, and the creature gave a terrified yelp before apparating away.

"Malfoy, you've got to slow down!" I called after him, afraid that we were being watched by somebody nefarious. "You're being insanely loud and it's … oh no."

Priceless porcelain, gold, and platinum vessels littered the floor inside, smashed and discarded. Whoever had done this either had no eye for treasures or had too many of them already. A gilded reliquary in the shape of a coffin lay tossed to the side, with no evidence of being broken into. However, all of the crystals in the girandole that Narcissa had bragged about winning at a wizarding auction in Paris had been plucked off, leaving the candles looking naked and cheap.

In the gallery itself, generations of Malfoys had fled their portraits. Only a young Lucius stayed behind to oversee the remnants of his home. He sneered as I walked by.

"No, honestly: tell me how you _really_ feel," I mumbled sarcastically out of his son's earshot. I jumped as a loud clatter emanated somewhere ahead of me, only to realize Malfoy had furiously kicked a silver and emerald ewer as far as he could punt it.

"Behave, Draco," called out his father's portrait, although Malfoy had gone too far to hear him.

"Leave him alone for once, will you?" I said impatiently, before going after Malfoy, who had kicked yet another priceless antique with a furious roar.

I grabbed him by the elbow and he spun around.

"You need to stop," I said gravely.

He stared at me, shaking with an unrestrained fury that I'm not sure I'd ever seen on him.

"I know," I told him. "I feel the same, I promise. It's utterly violating, what they've allowed themselves to do. But—" I dug harder into his arm. "We need to collect ourselves."

Instead of throwing my hand off, as he had been apt to do, Malfoy inhaled deeply and gave a tiny nod. And then, in a moment entirely unprecedented by anything before it, he clasped a cold hand over mine — not to remove it, but to feel it.

I didn't dare move, lest this be some sort of cruel joke. Malfoy seemed to think it had been. He looked shocked at himself, then disgusted.

"What d'you think you're doing, Zabini?"

"What?" I asked bewilderedly.

"You're just standing there like you're on a fucking vacation. Start prying apart the floorboards! There's shit under there that's worth more than your entire life," he snarled.

"Well that can't be very hard," I said, suddenly deeply annoyed at his forays into what could only be called noncommittal hand-holding. "Seeing as you think my life's worthless."

I moved past him and busied myself with magically lifting the floorboards. " _Carpe retractum!"_ I cast on a far left corner of the room. A series of wooden boards pulled towards me, revealing a hatch that was filled to the brim with artefacts. "How are we supposed to transport all this?" I asked Malfoy.

" _Accio_ _travelling trunk!_ " he summoned. A dark leather trunk tumbled violently down demolished stairs, and came whipping towards us. It came to a controlled stop at our feet. "And _you're_ not touching or transporting anything."

"Why, you don't trust me?" I argued.

"You think we're storing pygmy puffs down here?"

I took a quick glance at the hatch, where a couple of suspicious bone-like objects were peeking out amidst bottles and boxes.

"Is this stuff even legal?" I asked naively, knowing the answer almost immediately.

Malfoy flared his nostrils in annoyance and began transferring things into the trunk. I bent down to help him, but he grabbed me by the wrist just as I went for an opal necklace wrapped in translucent silk.

"No thanks, Zabini. Go stand over there," he said, pointing to the doorway. "Make sure no one's coming."

A half-hour later, he had scooped everything that he needed to into the trunk, which he shrank to the size of a handbag. We headed for the exit, when something off-white and delicate caught my eye from among the rubble. I tugged on the fabric, and couldn't help but give a startled laugh.

"Malfoy, these are baby clothes!" I said as I showed off what looked like a tiny cream frock. "Did they used to dress you in this? It looks like a princess gown!"

Malfoy snatched it out of my hands and tossed it on the floor with a scowl.

"Let's go, Zabini."

I picked it back up, gentler now.

"You should keep it; it's a nice memory. And you could give it to your own kids one day."

"You keep it then, if you like it so much," he snapped.

"Fine! I will!" I said defiantly as I shoved it into my pocket. "You can't just come here for the bad, Malfoy. This is your _home_ , and all you've got is a trunk full of contraband and a head full of shit."

"Don't make this sentimental or I—" He stopped, his gaze stuck on something over my left shoulder. He gestured to it. "Look what turned up, Zabini."

I turned to look.

"You're joking. You had it all this time?" I asked, pulling a dilapidated figurine of Bastien Janvier, the French Quidditch team's keeper, out from underneath a fallen console table. It gave an unenthusiastic wheeze.

"Guess I did. Must've been my turn with it."

I snorted.

"Funny, I don't remember you asking to share it. I remember you stealing it from out of my suitcase."

I looked down at the figurine and ran my fingers over its scratched surface. It must have been forgotten for at least six years.

"That was a wonderful trip to Paris, though, wouldn't you say?" I mumbled as I passed it to him.

Malfoy sighed and threw the figurine back into the rubble.

"Come on, Zabini, let's get out of here. The last thing I want to have to do is fight somebody on your behalf."

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The mood in Malfoy's hotel suite had taken a drastic turn for the worse, and although I had already suspected that leaving him would have been a horrible idea even before we arrived there, watching him stare blankly into his fireplace for two hours with a glass of smuggled Firewhisky in his hand had confirmed that.

"You should go," he said suddenly, cutting through the heavy silence. "It's past midnight. Owl Blaise and ask him to walk you to your hotel."

I couldn't help but remember his all-too-recent endeavour in setting his dorm room on fire, as well as the fact that Ogden's finest invention was a wonderful accelerant.

"Let's just agree that this isn't a very good time for you to get charged with property offences, alright?" I said gently. "So I'll just stay here, if you don't mind. And we won't have to worry about splitting the bed because I will quite frankly not be sleeping after all of this."

Malfoy gave a grunt of what I assumed to be agreement.

"Right, okay. I'm going to order us some food."

"I'm not hungry," Malfoy mumbled.

"No, see, you do that and then next thing we know you're passing out in the middle of Potions. So I am going to get us some tea and soup at the very least, because that goes down easy." I had already made up my mind, and was writing my order down on a notepad at the desk. Once I had signed my name to it, the ink disappeared from the page and was replaced by a confirmation of receipt. "Says it'll be up in a few minutes," I told Malfoy, who was sitting rigidly on the sofa with his arms crossed and his ankle over his knee. "All they had left was butternut squash, so I hope—"

"I don't think I've ever met a bigger fuck-up," he said suddenly. Suffice to say, it took me off guard.

"Look, I'm _sorry_ they don't have french onion! But honestly, it's midnight, Malfoy, what did you expect?"

"Than myself," he clarified.

"Oh."

I debated for a moment, and then took a seat beside him.

"Er … what makes you say that?"

"Zabini, there aren't enough hours in the day for me to explain what makes me say that. Suffice it to say, I'm on my last legs here."

"Please stop bringing up the fact that you might die. It really upsets —"

"Listen, I have a favour to ask you," he interrupted. I doubted he was listening in the first place. "If something happens to — no, Zabini, _listen,_ " he said as I opened my mouth to protest. "Please."

My jaw clacked shut.

"If something is to happen to me, I need you to speak with my mother. I need you to speak with her and convince her to go to France. I don't care how you do it, Zabini, just make sure she goes to that damn treatment centre."

I thought on this for a second.

"I … honestly, as much as I'd love to, I don't think she'd listen to me. In her mind I'm only slightly better than a blood traitor, and that's just because she likes Blaise. I just can't picture her taking anything I say seriously."

Malfoy threw his hands up in the air.

"I don't care what you can picture! I just need you to bloody do it! I know you can. Just take her aside, sit her down, look at her with those ridiculous doe eyes of yours and talk about morality or mortality or whatever else you like to yammer on about. It'll stick. Some of it will stick, I know it."

He wasn't demanding it of me, I realized, having osmotically learned over these past few months how to differentiate between his many expressions of scorn. He was pleading with me.

"Are you saying some of it stuck with you?" I asked gingerly.

"This isn't about me, Zab—"

"Malfoy, of course it is! It needs to be! It's barely been three months since you came to my house this summer, and since then I've personally witnessed you go to a _prison_ to see your father, go to _rehab_ to see your mother, and drag possessions from half of what used to be a full Malfoy Manor. Not to mention that I've watched you pass out in class, heard about you trashing your own dormitory, and witnessed you drop out of the one activity — other than calling me names — that gives your life some meaning. Frankly, I'm afraid of what I _haven't_ seen at this point."

Malfoy looked at me dryly.

"Sounds like you've had your dream year, then."

A pang of hurt went through my stomach. How did he not understand how any of this made me feel? Had I done a bad job telling him that I didn't want him dead?

In a moment of resolution, I did what he had earlier been unable to do and put my hand firmly on top of his. He looked surprised, but didn't move to assault me, which made it a lot easier to bare my soul to him.

"I am having a very, _very_ bad year watching this unfold, Malfoy," I said. I gripped his hand so tightly that I could feel his favourite serpent ring create an imprint in my palm. "I don't know what made you take the Mark, and I don't know why things are happening in your family the way that they are, but watching this is starting to really terrify me. And if it terrifies me, then it must scare you, too."

He said nothing, but looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. After what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, he swallowed and spoke.

"I took it because—"

A sudden knock travelled through the door, destroying the moment.

"Must be the food," I mumbled, slipping my hand from his.

It was the perfect excuse for Malfoy to shut himself away and pretend he hadn't begun to reveal anything, so that was exactly what he did.

"You can have the bed, Zabini. I've got some work to do."

"I—"

"Please, just go to the bedroom. I need to be alone right now," he insisted. His eyes looked glassier than normal, and I was half-afraid that he would start to cry.

Knowing the difference between a battle worth winning and a battle worth losing, I retreated through the frosted french doors and into the bedroom.

At three thirty in the morning, I jerked awake for the twelfth time and learned that my worst fear had finally come true. Malfoy was no longer in the suite. Cursing, I scrambled into the dark living quarters, only to find the door opening with him on the other side. He was clutching a brown paper bag.

I dropped the boot that I was desperately trying to jam my foot into.

"I thought you left!" I panted, letting relief wash over me as I sunk into the couch.

"Have you slept for more than a minute, Zabini?" Malfoy asked as he threw his key into a small metal tray on the table by the door.

"I … oh god, this is going to sound stupid, Malfoy, but…"

"Yes?"

"I don't think I can. I … I think I need to feel you beside me. Physically. Otherwise I keep jolting, thinking you've left to do something horrible."

I blushed furiously. The need to feel Malfoy physically was the sort of thing that could only be enunciated deep in the night, in a location very much separate from the one I usually inhabited. I waited for an insulting reply, but none seemed to come.

Malfoy slipped his travelling cloak off his shoulders and laid it on the sofa beside me.

"I see."

"Please don't make fun," I said hurriedly.

Malfoy didn't look prepared to do anything of the sort. Instead, he went to the bed and beckoned me over. He handed me the bag. It was filled with biscuits.

"What's this?" I asked as I sat down beside him, peering into it as if I'd never laid eyes on its contents. My skirt size lately would say otherwise.

"Figured you might have been hungry. You're generally pretty constant about it."

"Thanks, Malfoy," I said, somewhat touched. I took a bite out of one - it was frosted, and obnoxiously drizzled with chocolate, just the way I craved. "So is this how you and Blaise are?" I asked after a moment of munching, remembering the promise he had made me.

"Only after we compare bits." He looked at me seriously. "Show me yours, I'll show you mine, Zabini."

The biscuits suddenly felt like sand down my throat. I flew into a fit of coughing, crumbs going everywhere. Malfoy thumped me across the back.

"Merlin, Zabini, I was kidding."

I nodded, eyes watering.

"I know, I—"

He was looking at me with laughter flicking in his eyes. I felt an immense wash of relief. He would be okay, at least for tonight.

"Here, Zabini, move over. I need to lie down — my head's pounding."

I slid all the way down the antique bed, until I was crammed uncomfortably between the soles of his shoes and the end of the bed frame.

"You can come around, you know," he drawled humorously. "Or are you going to sleep sitting up?"

I swallowed and came around to settle in parallel to him. I wondered briefly what my friends would say about this should they ever see this unlikely sight. I didn't dare to look to my right. I'd spent many years convinced that Malfoy slept with an evil, contorted grin in an underground lair somewhere, and the last thing I needed was a break in that illusion.

"Zabini?" murmured Malfoy in the darkness. All the candles had suddenly extinguished.

"Yeah?" I answered stiffly.

"For today … for everything …"

I glanced over at him, and could tell that he was trying to look at anything but me.

"I know, Malfoy. Don't mention it."

"Alright."

I stared straight ahead and chewed the inside of my cheek as silence cloaked the room.

"Zabini?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"It might be possible that I've … that I've been too harsh with you. You know, over the years.."

"I guess it's possible."

_Merlin_ was this bed ever small.

"I'll still do it, more than likely."

"Me too, probably."

How did anybody romantically uninvolved ever manage to share this thing? I rolled over on my side.

"Any other way for us is … it's just unnatural, Zabini."

"Yeah," I said, aware now that his fingers had ghosted over my shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Was he adjusting his position? Was he having a stroke? Was this some sort of intentional caress? It suddenly became clearer to me why one generally avoided sharing a bed with their nemesis. "Completely unnatural."

I rolled onto my back, trying to gauge if that position induced less stomach flipping.

"Anyway, it's three in the bloody morning so I suggest we actually attempt to sleep, or that Acantha woman will have our heads tomorrow."

"Okay," I said hoarsely, arms by my sides as I stared up at the ceiling.

"Hey Zabini?" he mumbled softly. I turned over and found him propped lazily on his elbow, his face mere inches from mine.

"Yes?" I squeaked. Being a teenage girl officially sucked.

"Is this enough of me for you to feel physically? Because there's an up-charge if any clothing has to actually come off."

I stared at him in bemusement, and surely enough, I could make out a grinning row of pearly white teeth reflecting dimly in the dark.

"Are you serious? Are you actually serious? You _just_ promised not to make fun of me for that."

"Zabini, asking me not to mock you for that is like asking me to kill a tiny part of myself."

"Oh I am _absolutely_ fine with that, Malfoy," I growled, throwing a velvet pillow at his head. It bounced off his face satisfyingly, eliminating his smug grin. "As long as it's the part that talks."

 


	19. Hot Chocolate, Double the Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you’re all doing great, and that you enjoy this update! Leave some thoughts if you’ve got them!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Hey, Zabini, do the part again when you wake up and hit your face off your side of the bed frame, then get out of bed and hit your face off _my side_ of bed frame."

I glared at Malfoy, having been trapped on my way out of the toilet of his hotel suite. I looked like shit. I wondered briefly how Parkinson woke up in the presence of a male, and made a mental note to ask for tips should the world crack in half and put us on speaking terms.

"I'm so happy you found that to be an uplifting start to your morning. Argh, Malfoy you're walking too fast for my head to keep up."

"Are you using your head for legs now? I mean, I have to admit, that's a pretty spot-on portrayal of your intelligence but—"

I kicked him in the back of the leg as we descended down the stairs into the massive lobby.

"Did you just get filth on my trousers?" he demanded.

"No, that was Pansy when she tried to grab you on what is probably the only part of a body she knows the scientific name for."

"Yes, because we do that clothed," he said sarcastically.

An unpleasant pang went through me as I thought of the two … fornicating.

"You two don't do that at all last I heard," I said before I could help myself. "Not anymore at least."

Malfoy stopped short and turned to me, grey eyes slightly narrowed.

"Careful, there, Zabini. Wouldn't want to be caught talking big about something we haven't done ourselves, would we?"

Fiery shame crept up my neck.

"How would you know, Malfoy? I — I might have. Loads of times. More than you."

"Oh yeah? Hundreds of times, you reckon?"

"Millions," I mumbled, looking down at him from the bottom portion of staircase.

"And who was the unlikely victim then? Longbottom? No, wait, let me guess: he was an exchange student from a far away land — maybe Australia. Possibly Canada. He's tall and blond and built for Quidditch; muscular but not brutishly so. He's highly intelligent, without actually having to look like those Ravenclaw losers. Looks nothing like Goldstein, to his luck."

I huffed.

"You know, it's one thing to be insufferably self-obsessed, Malfoy, but to just up and singlehandedly _insert_ yourself into my sexual fantasies is on an entirely new level."

He grinned and let the door drop in front of my face. I rolled my eyes and pushed it open after him.

"I don't know what's funnier, Zabini," he continued, walking light years ahead of me, "the fact that I've found my way into your sexual fantasies, or the fact that you just admitted your sexual escapades had been a fantasy after all. Now who's pathetic?"

"Both of us, if you ask me," I grumbled. "You know, you look ridiculously pleased today for someone who went to bed a mere few hours before sunrise."

The smile disappeared from his face somewhat.

"I slept. For once."

He had. While I battled with insomnia, he'd passed out shortly after declaring that it was time to do so. The end result had been me trying not to flail around with a Slytherin breathing peacefully into the crook of my neck.

Malfoy, unaware of how far he had been within my personal bubble or how many blankets he had stolen from me, led the walk to St. Mungo's with the sort of irritating flair that could only come from a good night's sleep. It was like he was back in fourth year.

"Shut up and talk to the mannequin, would you?" I snapped, pushing him towards the St. Mungo's mannequin after a particularly annoying set of exchanges. My eyes were throbbing with a lack of sleep.

We walked in unison to our lockers and took out our healing kits and magenta robes. I paused to wrap my hair up into a bun, after an unfortunate hair pulling incident with a patient the day before.

"Zabini, I'm going to tell you this in advance because I now realize that if I don't, I'll come to find you hiding in some sort of crate outside the door: I am planning to visit my mother after our shift today. _Don't_ follow me," Malfoy said, as he nicked some Kwik-Heal gauze from my healing kit and put it into his own.

I nodded, feeling slightly ashamed of my brazen-faced spying the day before.

"You can, however, wait for me around the gift shop," he said.

I furrowed my eyebrows. What did I need at the gift shop?

"Er … why am I—"

"Thought you wanted to go have coffee?"

I had long discounted the possibility of this actually happening as promised, and was surprised to hear him resurrect the idea on his own.

"I do. Of course I do."

He nodded, then took out our schedule. I peered over his arm to get a good look.

"We'll have to survive the day first," he said as he analyzed it. "We're in the loony bin today, by the looks of it."

I glared at him.

"I think you mean the long term residents' ward. Gosh, Malfoy, your attitude _baffles_ —"

But he was already halfway towards the stairs.

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The shift had certainly been an eventful one, even more-so than the one before it. It had started easily enough, but by two o'clock, I had been placed firmly in a headlock by a patient named Kevin, who had been there since the previous May and was none too happy about it. I was even more taken aback when Malfoy dropped his clipboard and rushed to help Albina pry him off me. Once he had been removed from my neck, and Albina had rushed off to fetch me an oxygen replenishing potion 'just in case', Malfoy took the opportunity to smack me on the forehead.

"Ow! Malfoy, what was that for?" I snapped, knowing exactly what it had been for. We weren't supposed to approach high-risk patients without the other, but his whimpers of falsified pain had been too much for my heart to bear.

By four, however, roles had reversed and I found myself bent over Malfoy in the male lavatory, helping him bandage his left wrist after a medi-witch spilled some sort of concoction on it. Since I was the only one available to him that wouldn't try to summon an Auror once I saw what was under his sleeve, he was stuck with using me for assistance.

"Don't press so hard, Zabini! Merlin, you have the grip of a mountain troll."

"I wouldn't have to press so hard if you'd stop squirming against me! You're not leaving until I finish anyway, so I don't know what your rush is."

" _Gently!_ " he roared. "I'm not a piece of meat!"

"MALFOY, STOP BITING!" I yelped.

The stall door was thrown open, exposing us to a dark-haired boy no older than eleven. Malfoy quickly put his shirt back on.

"What are you doing?" asked the kid, eyeing us apprehensively. His brown eyes stopped on me. "You don't look like a boy."

"Yeah? Look again," said Malfoy irately.

The child's eyes stopped a few too many inches below my neck for my liking. I crossed my arms and cringed at the little pervert in the making.

"She's not a boy," he reaffirmed. "I'm telling my dad."

"Do I _look_ like I care? Tell your bloody mother while you're at it. In fact, tell her mother! Her mother's mother ought to know too!" snarled Malfoy, clearly still miserable from pain.

The kid's eyes glistened precariously.

"I …"

He rubbed his sleeve over his moistening eyes.

"Oh no," I muttered from behind Malfoy as the little boy let out a strained sort of sniffle.

"She's … she's _dead,"_ he sobbed. "I hate this hospital!"

"You just had to, didn't you?" I hissed at Malfoy.

I stepped out of the cubicle and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm very sorry about Mr. Malfoy here. He was mistreated as a child; lots of organ music at birthday parties and other such atrocities. Buy yourself something nice, won't you?"

I quickly shoved a pocketful of coins into the kid's hand and dragged Malfoy out by the arm until we had cleared the area. I snapped my fingers threateningly towards the stairs.

"Go talk to your mother before I kill you."

He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly shitty but I clasped a hand over it.

"No! No talking. There could be children here and I don't have enough money to pay them all off after you're done with them."

He narrowed his eyes and turned on his heel.

I gave a sigh of relief and made my way to the gift shop to wait for him. I had made it through seven chapters of _A Unicorn's Lament_ by the time he returned, looking even more miserable than when he'd left. My heart twitched with sympathy as I put the book back on the shelf.

I didn't ask much of him as we walked through the crisp, chilled air to the coffee shop. It was part café, part bookstore, and had a handsome navy blue awning that read _Café Nola._ It was much less crowded than the day before, although I had no idea why; the place smelled delicious. The array of treats in the glass display only further confirmed that I had made a good choice.

"What'll you have, then?" Malfoy asked me as we stood among bookshelves that were double the usual height.

"A hot chocolate is fine."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned to the barista.

"I'll take a coffee — black; a hot chocolate — double the chocolate; and whatever that massive slice of cake is," he said, pointing to a monstrosity of vanilla and buttercream.

"It's alright, Malfoy, I can buy it," I said as he took out a black wallet with a serpent embossed on the front.

"It's fine," he said, having already thrown down some coins. "Go find somewhere to sit."

I found a little table nestled in a quiet corner of shelves.

He came along quickly after and set down my hot chocolate in front of me. It was heaping with whipped cream. I stuck my finger in it and scooped some into my mouth, ignoring Malfoy's disapproving wince.

"So how was—"

"Fine, Zabini," he said.

"Was your mum—"

"She's fine, I'm fine. We're all fine."

"Yesterday was really hard," I remarked.

"Yes, it was."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. Truly," I said.

"Yeah, well… what else is new," he replied with a shrug.

"Do you … d'you think we're friends now?" I asked cautiously, half-afraid that the answer would be yes.

He took an unaffected swig of his coffee.

"No."

"You just bought me hot chocolate. And a slice of cake," I pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Half a slice of cake," he said as he spooned a piece into his mouth.

"You know Sarah Clancey in Hufflepuff? The one you said was a big-mouthed pigeon?"

"She is one."

"Well … do you buy _her_ hot chocolate, double the chocolate?"

He threw his fork down and pushed the plate away.

"You know what, Zabini? I want a refund. You owe me six sickles."

I raised my hands innocently.

"I'm just trying to put some sort of perspective on this whole thing."

"What whole thing? It sounds like you've made something up in your head again. We agreed I'd treat you like your brother, so that's what I'm doing."

I mouthed an 'oh' and went for the most frosted part of the cake slice.

"You sure like to feed Blaise," I remarked as I washed the sugar down with chocolate.

"Look, I don't like labels, Zabini."

I snorted.

"Oh yeah, Malfoy, yeah you hate labels. Let's see: mudblood, blood traitor, pointless Zabini, worthy Zabini, Gryffindor freak, Slytherin prince. Am I missing anything from your reductionist toolkit or…?"

Malfoy scowled and slammed his mug down on the table. Droplets of coffee sprayed on me. I glared at him as I took to wiping them off.

"Forget this. It's moronic that I even showed up here," Malfoy said. He slid his chair back, and, in a panic, I reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve.

"I'm sorry, don't go," I said, my fingers tugging on the wool. "We don't need to be friends."

Reluctantly, he settled back into the chair, looking bristly.

"I don't know why I keep pushing it," I mused.

"Because you're obsessed with friendship. You need it, you breathe it — you'd eat it if you could."

"Yeah … maybe," I admitted.

"Which begs me to ask what you're not getting from those Gryffindors of yours. See in my experience, Zabini, when you don't get enough your eyes start to wander elsewhere."

"Oh yeah? When'd you figure that out? When Daphne Greengrass left you to go snog Nott?" I said, somewhat defensively. I was surprised that he didn't try to walk out on me again.

"No — when Daphne Greengrass left Nott to snog me," he replied with a caustic smirk.

I cringed and wiped whipped cream off my lip with the back of my hand.

"Well, regardless, you're full of it," I told him, swallowing the last of my hot chocolate.

"Wow, Zabini," he said as he glanced at his watch. "You drank that in … four minutes?"

I smiled proudly.

"What can I say, Malfoy? I have many drink-related talents."

He smirked and took a small sip of coffee.

"Do those talents extend to Firewhisky? Or do they stop at Pumpkin juice?"

"I'm not sure," I muttered, suddenly feeling very aware of how unexciting my life was. "Haven't tried."

His smirk deepened, but he shrugged.

"Probably for the best."

"I can chug an entire pitcher of Pumpkin Fizz though."

Unluckily for Malfoy, I exposed that fact mid-drink. He snorted into his mug, and emerged spluttering.

" _Fuck_ , Zabini, did you have to?" he snapped, though his eyes were filled with mirth.

"Sorry, just trying to make chit chat."

"Well don't! I don't need this in my nostrils, thanks."

I nodded and picked at some crumbs on my paper napkin. Without warning, Malfoy got up.

"Where are you—"

He ignored me and disappeared behind some bookshelves. I sighed. It had been an attempt, at least. Just as I began getting up, he re-appeared with another mug.

"What's this?" I asked, catching sight of another pile of whipped cream.

"A refill. Try to stretch it out for at least ten minutes this time."

"No promises," I said as I eagerly began working on it.

"You run my tab up more than Pansy, you know. She usually takes a sparkling water and some fruit."

I scoffed.

"I'm pretty sure Parkinson's decomposing as we speak from a lack of those trans fats that I love so much." I took another gulp. "How nice it would be if some other people decomposed," I added as a bright afterthought.

Malfoy looked less than impressed.

"Mind yourself, Zabini, or you'll be watching your own back in the crazy ward next time," he warned.

"That _was_ nice of you," I said, reflecting back on what he had done earlier. "Preventing me from being strangled, I mean."

Malfoy shrugged. "It's the job."

"I'm surprised you're actually taking Healing seriously, you know," I remarked.

"And why, might I ask, is that?"

I gave a shocked laugh.

"Because you never take _anything_ seriously! I mean, maybe Quidditch."

"And you're the expert on what I take seriously, now?" he remarked snidely.

I shrugged.

"I just never would have thought you'd be interested in Healing. Figured you'd want to be more of a Ministry man. You know, after your family's done corrupting it."

Malfoy scoffed.

"I don't need to go to the Ministry to get power, Zabini — I already have it, just like your family does. But reversing the damage of a previously incurable poisoning? Putting your guts back into your body after they've been slashed out by a cutting curse? Now that's a business I could stand to learn."

I exhaled.

"Wow. Never thought I'd see the day we'd agree on an ice cream flavour, let alone a reason for being."

"Don't worry, Zabini; we still don't agree on ice cream flavours."

"Malfoy, if you wanted to be a Healer all this time, then why did you … how did you … you know … end up joining _him?_ "

Malfoy clenched his jaw.

"If you must know, I joined over the summer of my own free will; I asked him to and he let me. I did it to get revenge on all the people who landed my father in prison." He looked down at his hands, which were clasped tightly, knuckles shining. I wanted to ask him how many times he had rehearsed what he just told me, but ultimately resisted.

"And … and so technically I'm one of those—"

"Technically, Zabini, I should _murder_ you for what you and your friends did that night," he seethed. "And yet I sit entertaining you in bookshops."

I shook my head at him.

"Don't say it like that, Malfoy. Don't talk about killing like it's easy."

He narrowed his eyes to slits.

"What do you know about killing, Zabini?" he hissed. I felt quite thankful that I had chosen a table away from eavesdroppers.

"Don't you think there were other ways to get revenge on us, if you believed that what happened wasn't justified?" I asked, ignoring his question. "If you think, if you really, _honestly_ think that I deserved to die at your father's hand, that I _deserved_ to have my life —"

But Malfoy had seemingly heard enough.

"What are you trying to say, Zabini? No, alright! No, he should not have tried to kill you! No, you did not 'deserve' to die at his hand! But you shouldn't have fucking gone!" he spat, smacking his hand on the table to drive his point.

I was somewhat taken aback by the fact that he had sided with me over his father. It took a moment for me to regain my voice.

"You're right, Malfoy, you're completely right. For all intents and purposes, I shouldn't have gone; I was barely able to cast an impediment jinx properly, let alone battle Death Eaters. I made a complete fool of myself, and in the end, I was nothing but a liability. But they were my _friends_. To just leave them? I — I couldn't. I never could. All I can do now is prepare better for next time, whether it's through learning healing or by getting better at fighting. I just hope …" I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to divulge what I was thinking.

"Go on," breathed Malfoy.

"I just hope it isn't anyone I know that I have to fight in the end." I buried my head in my hands. "Why would you do this, Malfoy? You've made it all terribly complicated. You could have just beaten the crap out of us like a normal person. But to join _him…_ "

Malfoy swallowed nervously, as if he was deeply ashamed of what he was about to say.

"I was … I was forced to join, Zabini," he murmured, looking behind him as if he was afraid that somebody would overhear this most embarrassing confession.

I gaped at him, unable to find the words to express my sheer relief.

"Malfoy, you say it like it's a bad thing!" I spluttered. "This is the best news I've heard for months!"

I must have been overt in looking at him like I'd never seen anything quite so heartening, judging by his embarrassed squirm and the dull pink blush that had crept into his cheeks. I caught myself and looked away. It was my turn to feel awkward.

"Let's not talk about this, Zabini, least of all in the middle of a bookshop. You know, you don't see me relentlessly poking around your personal life."

The chance to transition back to petty nothings was a welcome opportunity — if anything, it was our best-rehearsed dance. I took full advantage, and went head-first into another bickering match.

"Suppose the last five years were just friendly curiosity, were they? Especially when you tried to _bribe_ my crush to kiss me?"

Malfoy groaned.

"Oh, come on, not this again! Pucey's an utter cretin. I'm more annoyed that I almost paid him money. The next idiot I have to pay to prank-kiss you is going to be approved by me."

And on we went, until each of us had had at least three refills. In Heidi Zabini land, this had been quite the edgy night out, complete with food, a late-night chat, and even a pseudo male presence. Happily, I wrapped my scarf around my neck and prepared to leave for my hotel, not at all able to predict the next words out of Malfoy's mouth:

"So can we go get a real drink now, Zabini? Or do I have to keep pretending I'm satisfied with just coffee?"


	20. An Unbecoming Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I’ve got a bit of an early update for you as I’ll be away this weekend and may not be able to update on time. Hope you enjoy as always! And of course, leave your thoughts as I do love reading them!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"W-what?" I said, feeling as if I had critically misheard something.

"A drink, Zabini. Al-co-hol."

"But... we're underage," I said lamely.

"You know, they never seem to ask when they serve wine from the Malfoy Apothecary if the Malfoy heir is younger than seventeen. Go figure," he said with a smirk.

"I suppose they wouldn't."

"Come on, Zabini, don't be a complete mop. We'll be back at school in no time and you can be one then. But for now, I'm rather craving a glass at _Obliviate._ "

"Well it's just... my hotel isn't anywhere near that part of town. And Blaise wouldn't come get me in a million years if I'm drunk."

Malfoy smirked.

"Don't worry, we'll find somewhere to put you."

"You know, that doesn't sound quite as reassuring out of the mouth of a Slytherin," I muttered, following him out.

The place he brought me was a block away from Gringotts. Knowing it was where our fathers would slip away for drinks after many a combined family outing, I grabbed his wrist.

"Malfoy, we can't go in there! They'll know we're too young! They know our _fathers_."

"Are you a Zabini or not?" he snapped as I clung on for dear life. "If you keep acting like that, they'll throw you out for insanity, nothing more."

I let go of his wrist and brushed myself off awkwardly, trying to play it cool.

"And take off that scarf. You look like Weasley's great aunt."

I glared at him while doing what he told me. He wasn't wrong, after all — I'd gotten the scarf off of Ginny partially for its vintage appeal, which I was now beginning to second guess.

"Now, when I go in, just follow my lead. Act like you know me. In fact, Zabini, you'd do best to act like you _like_ me."

I raised an eyebrow.

"And what does that entail?"

He held out his arm. I looked at it distrustfully, then put my scarf over it.

" _No_ , Zabini, not what I meant," he said as he tossed it back to me. He looped my arm through the crook of his elbow. "There. Now you look like you almost belong."

"Are you trying to pass me off as one of your girlfriends?" I spluttered as he dragged me along.

He snorted.

"Don't be ludicrous."

Malfoy pushed open the door and walked past the security wizard with me in tow, until we landed at a table in the corner.

"Excuse me, could I get a bottle of Superior Red?" he asked a nearby waitress. "Oh, and a Butterbeer for my cousin here."

A woman wearing a heavily sequinned minidress strode over to our table. Her notepad floated after her.

"Superior Red you say? Oh, hi, Draco!" she grinned, clearly recognizing him.

"I'm not your — I'm not his cousin," I said to the waitress, who didn't look too fussed either way. "Do you guys serve food?" I asked, spotting an unguarded plate of chips a few tables away.

"Last call was ten minutes ago, sorry."

"Oh. Butterbeer's fine then."

I noticed her arms and legs were covered in goosebumps, likely due to the dress she was wearing and the fact that it was as cold inside the bar as it was out.

"Would you like my scarf?" I asked politely, offering up the fuzzy burgundy fabric.

"Er…no."

I was pretty sure I could make out an expression of deep disgust on her face through the neon purple lighting, but nothing beat the look Malfoy had given me once she left.

"Zabini, _are you a real person?_ "

"She looked cold!" I said defensively.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking stressed.

"You don't do this _too_ often, do you?" I asked with a hint of concern, looking around at the patrons, all of whom looked like they had at least graduated school.

"What? Take you to bars? No, thank Salazar."

"I meant drinking in general."

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, just … because," I mumbled.

I fiddled with a coaster, which for some reason had the Malfoy crest on it. Did these people have to brand _everything?_

"I get it. You think because my mother's got a fucking problem that I do too. No, Zabini, I don't do this often."

"Then why does the waitress know your first name?" I asked.

"That's Flint's sister, idiot."

I gaped at him.

" _That_ is _Flint's_ sister?"

"What, you think because one sibling looks like a troll, the other has to as well?" he asked.

"I'd like to think not, seeing as I'm Blaise's," I replied as Flint's sister set our drinks on the table. "And I think he's the one that's got the troll aspect covered."

"You're Blaise Zabini's little sister?" she asked, taking a sudden interest.

"I'm not sure about little, but yeah, unfortunately," I replied. So I had come out fifteen minutes later. Big deal.

"I don't think you're allowed in here, love," she said sympathetically. "Draco's one thing, but we'll get into a bit of heat with the Ministry if we let fourteen-year-olds in."

I couldn't help but glare at her.

"I'm _sixteen._ Blaise and I are twins."

"Oh!" she said, sounding genuinely surprised. "So you two are…" she pointed between me and Malfoy.

"Classmates. Partners. Eternal victims of each other."

Malfoy smirked into his wine glass. I was just glad he was letting me handle the situation for once.

"Ah. Sorry about that then. Anything else I can get you?" she asked, blushing.

"Yes. A shot of Firewhiskey."

Malfoy's head shot up. He appeared almost concerned.

"Zabini, I don't think—"

" _Two_ shots of Firewhiskey," I said smugly, crossing my arms in a most Malfoy-esque way.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"And then I told him to sod off, right in front of all my friends."

"You didn't!"

I nodded slowly, suppressing a hiccough as I finished my wine. It was tart and horrible, but it did the trick. I was now officially having a good time with Draco Malfoy.

"Didn't even kiss him."

"How noble of you, Zabini. But the question is did you want to?"

"Of course I wanted to! Have you _seen_ Adrian Pucey?"

"Zabini, I've not only seen him, I've seen too much of him. For the record, since I know you love your wizards comparing bits, he's the master of it," he said.

"So…"

"So what?" Malfoy asked, pouring me a second glass of wine.

"So how was it?" I asked with a grin.

"Alright, that's how I know you're officially cut off."

It was fine with me. The two shots of Firewhiskey had gone down kicking and screaming, and the wine had sent my head spinning in all possible directions. My eyes widened as they flew over something in a far corner.

"Sweet child of Merlin, what exactly am I looking at right now…?"

Malfoy turned in his chair.

"What's your issue, Zabini?"

"There appears to be a one-eyed goat fornicating with an amoeba. One that's been enlarged. _Very_ enlarged."

"The wine's not that charmed."

I pointed to the canvas in question.

"That painting over there! Oh my god, it's moving!"

"You mean the painting of the God of the Woodlands? The one donated to this five star establishment from our estate by my father, and painted by his extremely talented, pure-blooded friend?" Malfoy said.

"I'm sure your father's donation had nothing to do with it scaring off every living and dead thing in your house. It moved again! That thing's obscene!" I exclaimed, enthralled by what I flinched to call a work of art.

"Pure class as always, Za-"

"Just squint your eyes and look at the painting, Malfoy. Like this." I gestured towards my squinted eyes with a fork, something that, had I been more sober, would have seemed like a bad idea.

He took one look at me and started to laugh. A true, honest laugh. It was contagious. Soon enough, we were doubled over, laughing as if we'd never laugh again.

"You know, Malfoy, we really should do this more oft … what?" I asked. His face had morphed into a grim expression quicker than I could have kept up with. He was looking over my shoulder. As I was about to turn around, his eyes slipped to mine.

"Don't look behind you, Zabini," he said lowly.

"What are you talking about?" I said with a grin. "Are you going to have somebody sneak up on me? Are there paparazzi?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"No. Just trust me."

I frowned and turned around.

"Is that my … is that my dad?" I squinted. "Who's he with?" I asked, eyeing a leggy redhead that looked a few decades younger than my mother.

"I don't know," Malfoy said.

"Why has he got his arm around that woman?" I blubbered. "Does he work with her?" I could hear my tone get more desperate as I saw him lean in to wrap his arm around her, burying his face in her neck.

I felt a large hand cover mine. I whipped around to look at Malfoy, who looked as close to sympathetic as I'd ever seen. This filled me with even more dread.

"Never mind who she is. Let me get the bill."

"D-Do you know who that woman is?" I stuttered, feeling the hot swell of tears coming on.

He said nothing.

" _Do you?_ "

He shook his head gravely.

I threw his hand off and began getting up.

"Zabini," he said, grabbing me by the shoulders before I had a chance to turn and walk away. "Trust me. Don't do this."

"I need to talk to him!"

Malfoy shook his head vehemently, hands still clasped firmly over my shoulders.

"Not here, Zabini. Not now. If you turn around now, he'll recognize you. It won't solve anything. This isn't the place, trust me."

I swallowed, not knowing where to look. I couldn't turn, I couldn't keep boring into Malfoy's eyes without feeling humongously self-conscious, and I also couldn't seem to bring myself to look away.

Malfoy glanced past me to where I presumed my father was sitting, and glared darkly. Alarmed, I began to turn my head but he cupped my cheek and turned it back to him.

"That's definitely not something you need to see," he muttered.

"I'd like to leave then," I said thickly, the lump in my throat keeping me from saying much more. "Please."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care, Malfoy! Anywhere!"

He nodded, then dropped some money on the table.

"C'mon," he said, helping me into my jacket. "We'll leave through the back so he doesn't see us walk by."

The cold night air sobered me up a tiny amount. My knees were still wobbly, though I wasn't sure if it had been from the alcohol or from the shock. I tried to pass my tears off as yawns, but gave up at Malfoy's knowing look.

"Well you must be pleased, then," I said wetly, cutting through the silence as we walked through a significantly darker London.

"What _now_ …"

"A little family trauma would do me some good, remember?" I explained resentfully. "So has it, then? D'you think this will prove to be a beneficial experience?"

"I daresay we're past wishing eternal misery on each other, Zabini," he muttered.

"This'll be in the papers if he gets spotted. I know it will."

"No one'll care. It's not like it's my family — no offence."

"My _mother,_ Malfoy. I don't care about anybody else but … oh god, this will be awful." I groaned. "Maybe I've just misunderstood something? I am a little drunk," I admitted.

Malfoy looked at me with a conflicted expression.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Maybe."

"You don't think so," I said, feeling the dread return.

"Never mind what I think," Malfoy muttered, adjusting my scarf, which was dangling crookedly on my shoulders.

I halted, and readjusted my scarf back to its original position.

"What is this?" I asked, feeling my eyes narrow suspiciously.

Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Do you feel bad for me? Is that what this is? Are you taking pity on me?" I asked, offended.

He crossed his arms and gave me his most caustic expression.

"No, Zabini, I feel great for you. It's an enviable position to be in, really, when your father's necking another woman."

" _Malfoy!_ "

"What do you want from me?" he spat. "Would you like me to let you go back and confront him? Is that it? Because I'd be more than happy to have you go on your merry way. I'm sure that's exactly what Potty would have done. He loves a good public crisis so long as people ask him for an autograph on their way out."

"I just want to go home," I admitted drunkenly. "I wish I never saw any of this."

"Oh grow _up_ , Zabini! Welcome to adulthood, where fucked up families do fucked up things!"

I shook my head.

"Not every family. Look at the Weasleys—"

"Do we _look_ like Weasleys to you?"

"So what are you saying, then? That we're doomed to having messed up families forever, just because we have a bit of money? We're doomed for generations?" I demanded, waving my arms a little too enthusiastically. I quickly steadied myself before I had a chance to fully tip over.

"Precisely."

"Well then we may as well kill ourselves now, if that's your theory! But I think it's wrong, for the record. You'd make a fine parent if you'd just straighten yourself out a little. You're smart, and motivated, and you have the sort of glare that would make me stop trying to shove my hand into a bubbling cauldron without you needing to say anything, which if you ask me is a wonderful parental attribute."

"I'm a _fucking Death Eater,_ " he hissed. "Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up with your father being a Death Eater?"

"That doesn't mean your kid—"

"It _does mean_. Now if you don't mind, Zabini, I think this conversation is rather over. I'm heading back to my hotel. If you want to come, come. If you don't, don't."

He set off without looking back, though I was pretty sure based on the way he slowed down when I lagged behind, that he was making sure I was in tow. I followed him silently the entire way to the victorian gothic building that housed the _Vauntmure_ , taking care to tag slightly behind him to give off the illusion that I could and would leave at any time. Of course, by the time the _Vauntmure_ was directly ahead of us, the 'I could take it or leave it' jig was rather up, and I was obviously taking it.

"What do I tell Blaise?" I whispered, shaking my head in second-hand shame as we arrived in front of the hotel's heavy doors. "He'd kill him."

"I'd wait until you stop slurring to tell him anything," he said, steering me up the steps and into his room.

I slumped into an armchair, not bothering to take off my shoes.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"Really? **"** he asked, pouring himself a glass of water.

"What are you saying, Malfoy?" I said, extending a hand and hoping for a glass as well. However, he sat in front of the fire, looking like he had no intention of getting up just to serve me.

"Don't you think there were signs?" he enquired.

"Of what? Of my father being an adulterer? No, I don't reckon I saw any," I snapped defensively.

Malfoy shrugged.

"I'd bet you any money there were, and you chose not to see them. That's just who you are."

A jolt of anger went through me.

"Well did _you_ always know your father was a psychopathic murderous creep, or not so much?"

I felt guilty the minute I said it.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, that was out of—"

"I did, actually," he said casually, unbothered as he drank his water. "He told me all about the Muggles he poisoned in his heyday. I was only ten then. Oh, and of course, I watched him happily throw some Muggle children up in the air at the Quidditch World Cup a couple of years ago. So yeah, Zabini, I guess I began to have my suspicions."

"Oh."

"You don't have to look so sad for me; I thought it sounded like great fun, slipping a Death Draught or two into some Muggle's tea. And I'm still waiting for _my_ chance to flip you in midair and show your massive knickers off to the school."

I frowned at him.

"I don't wear massive … ugh."

He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. I buried my head in my hands. What an atrocious evening.

"Oh cheer up, Zabini, you'll be fine. If there's anyone that's going to come out of this world in one piece it's you. You'll probably be a Healer somewhere far away, married to some git who spends his paycheque on your sugar habit. Probably Goldstein or Boot. No, definitely Goldstein."

"Excuse me?" I asked, resurfacing from the palms of my hands.

"Oh enough with the false surprise. You should hear the way he talks about you. It's disgusting."

"Talks about me? What are you going on about?"

"The poor sod's been obsessed with you ever since your Ministry heroics last year. 'Oh, Heidi'll do great — she's _so brave._ Look at how she stands up to Malfoy. I wish she'd yell at _me_ like that.' Sickening."

I felt a little twang in my stomach hearing my first name roll casually off his tongue, even if the context had rendered his use of it meaningless.

"He did not!" I exclaimed, blushing hotly.

"Oh yell at me, Heidi! _Louder_ , Heidi!"

I threw a hotel peanut at him while he devolved into a series of snickers.

"Seriously, Malfoy, whose idea was it to have you roam around the world freely?" I complained, while secretly enjoying the concept of Anthony Goldstein taking a weird little interest in me.

"Don't play coy, you love the idea; I can see it in your eyes. You want little Goldsteins running around, boring all the other children on the playground."

"Just because they'll be clever doesn't mean they'll be boring. At least my kid'll be able to read by the time they're forty, unlike yours and Pansy's," I said before sticking out my tongue at him.

"A cutting insult, really. Unfortunately, as I've previously mentioned, I'd rather abstain from breeding."

"Is Pansy aware of this?" I asked.

"Why?"

I shrugged, trying to look innocent and not at all like I was taking the opportunity to fish for information that was none of my business.

"I just figure couples ought to talk about that sort of thing."

"We aren't a couple," he said simply, causing my mood to lift somewhat out of the gutter it was currently inhabiting.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

He fixed me a knowing glare.

"No you aren't."

My reply was intercepted by a large yawn coming onto my mouth.

"Tired, are we?" Malfoy asked.

I nodded, surprised.

"Well what did you expect after all that wine?" he said with a smirk. "You know where the bed is."

I didn't need to be told twice. This routine was certainly less nerve-wracking the second time, and I even felt brave enough to take my cardigan off as I crawled under the covers, leaving me in a camisole and jeans. I had passed out before I could feel Malfoy take his place beside me.

My dreams were riddled with bizarre hallucinations. I dreamt at first that I was falling into a vat of Firewhisky and wine, and had to be fished out by my father, who quickly abandoned his efforts and left to marry the woman at the bar. As I accepted my death, I was pulled out by my mother, who turned into Blaise, who turned into Malfoy.

_"_ _I'm going to have to do mouth-to-mouth."_

_"_ _But Malfoy, I'm breathing totally fine."_

_"_ _It's called a precaution, Zabini. Merlin above, don't you_ ever _listen in class? Dumbledore did say he's going to fail you out of the Healing program, so I suppose that'll resolve itself."_

_"_ _He's going to_ fail—"

_I was cut off by dream-Malfoy pressing his mouth on mine. I could taste mint on his tongue as he slipped it into my mouth, and could feel his fingertips dancing gently on my jaw. I indulged him for a moment, then pulled away._

" _Malfoy, I don't think that's how you perform mouth-to-mouth."_

" _My mouth was on your mouth, was it not?"_

_"_ _Yes, but—"_

_"Shit_ _, Zabini, read a book for once! I've bet all our fortune that our baby was going to beat Pansy and Goldstein's at the Arithmancy competition and now I'm not so sure he will."_

_"_ _We have a baby?"_

_Malfoy rolled his eyes and pointed to the cyclops goat from the painting at the bar._

_Upon seeing this, I jerked awake definitively._

"Stpf," grumbled Malfoy as I bolted straight up.

" _Lumos maxima."_

_"_ Oh my fuck, Zabini, if you don't put that light out—"

I nudged him on his side. He responded with a growl, but remained sprawled on his stomach, determined to continue sleeping.

Although the cyclops goat no longer felt real, the throbbing somewhere below my bellybutton at the illusion of Malfoy's mouth on mine intensified. I did know one thing — dreams had a grounding in reality. Mind you, I learned that from Trelawney, but still.

"I think it's a bit strange of you, spending all this time with me," I declared, convinced that the dream gods had just shown me a truth I had previously been impervious to.

" _What?_ "

"First we go for coffee, which I guess was my idea. But then we go out for drinks? I mean _that's_ bizarre. And then we sleep together, not once, but two nights in a row. Not _together_ together, but—"

"It. Is. Five. In. The. Morning," he seethed. If it had previously been ambiguous, then it was now very clear that Draco Malfoy was not a morning person.

"I just mean…"

Malfoy rubbed his bloodshot eyes and begrudgingly sat up beside me, having apparently given up. I realized then that he had been sleeping with his shirt off, rendering the situation more dire than I had previously thought.

"Malfoy… are you …" I struggled somewhat with finding the best, least mortifying way to convey what I needed to say. "Are you trying to become intimate with me?"

 


	21. Almost Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I was able to find some time to upload despite being unsure that I would. Enjoy, and feel free to leave your thoughts as I do love reading them!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Sorry … what?" he asked, looking at me with badly hidden bemusement.

_Oh no._

"Have you been coming on to me?" I repeated. It was too late to jump ship; I knew I had to stick with it now — it was the Gryffindor in me.

Unexpectedly, Malfoy covered his face with his hands, leaving me nervous that I'd done the wrong thing. Perhaps I had been too bold, and embarrassed him with my question. He was, after all, in a vulnerable state, and if he was harbouring any romantic feelings toward me then he probably didn't want them exposed this early in the morning.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. It's alright if you were, I just … hang on, are you … are you _laughing at me?_ " I said in amazement.

He let out a noise like a shuddering wheeze and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. My jaw fell open.

"You are _such—"_

"I'm sorry, Zabini—"

"An _absolute_ —"

"I'm sorry, it's just the phrasing—"

" _Wanker._ "

"It's just I don't think anybody's ever asked me if I was hitting on them in quite _that_ way," he admitted, before breaking into another fit of laughter. I wasn't finding it funny at all, and was now both overheating from mortification and shivering from nerves.

"Well I don't really know how else I could have asked you," I lied, now realizing that even starting off with 'Malfoy, are you hitting on me' would have been a better option. "And anyway, you shouldn't be acting so surprised! I mean what am I supposed to think with all this going on? You paid for me twice last night! We slept in the same bed!"

"No, you're right," he admitted quickly, clearly no novice when it came to females turning hostile in his bedroom. "You are correct. I did do those things."

"You did."

"But I wasn't trying to become…" he paused to have another good laugh at my expense. "Intimate."

I held my hands up.

"Okay, that's fine. I got it. No need to keep laughing."

"Zabini, come on. It's fucking _funny_."

I straightened my shoulders despite the shame.

"Only because it's at my expense! You know, you still haven't explained _why_ you did any of those things. It's easy just to laugh in my face and act all cool. But the fact of the matter remains: you did them _._ "

Malfoy shrugged wordlessly, clearly racking his brain to find an explanation. I was beginning to think he didn't know why himself.

"You're funny," he concluded matter-of-factly.

I gaped at him.

"I'm _what?_ "

"You're funny. I took you out for drinks because you're funny."

I groaned and sank back down onto the bed. My nightmare was finally in full swing.

"What's the problem now, Zabini?" Malfoy said, looking down at me in my miserable state with an expression of great reluctance.

"Allow me to demonstrate through a monologue: 'Hello, husband. What made you decide to commit to spending the rest of your life with me?' 'I really like jokes and you happen to be one.'"

"That isn't what I said."

I glared at him.

"Explain yourself, then."

He sighed.

"You just manage to … I dunno … keep my mind off of things, I guess. You talk a lot about nothing, and you do it quickly and somehow entertainingly, and somewhere between your verbal vomit I start to forget my life is becoming a complete shit-hole. I guess I was wanting that last night, so I offered to extend the evening," he said.

"And … that's it?"

"Was there supposed to be more?" he asked.

I scowled and began trying to jam my arms into my purple cardigan, which I had left carelessly on the floor.

"I just don't appreciate you making fun. I get that I'm someone who you think deserves a laugh in the face, but really, Malfoy. At least I asked; at least I was trying to keep things honest."

He gave me the same pseudo-sympathetic look he had given me the night before as I had begun putting the pieces together regarding my father.

"It's not because—"

"And don't look at me like that. It's a little offensive," I snapped, no longer in good spirits at all.

"Offensive? I should be the one that's offended!" he scoffed. "You think I need to get girls drunk and drag them to my hotel room to 'become intimate' with them!"

"Suppose you'd just attack them in a dark hallway in the dungeons instead," I grumbled as I pulled my boots on. "Sorry that isn't much my seduction style."

"Whatever, Zabini. Just go. You're obviously trying to pick a fight from nothing and I haven't got the time."

I walked around the bed, picking up scattered belongings, and wrapped the ugly scarf he'd criticized around my neck with particular gumption. I was Heidi Zabini, Gryffindor loser, and this was _my_ ugly vintage scarf.

"Oh, and you don't need to worry: Blaise already knew," Malfoy snapped as he followed me out into the living quarters, not bothering to put a shirt on.

Standing in the dim fireplace light with his arms crossed, I began to see why girls favoured him for things other than throwing hexes. He was anything other than brawny, but the years of sports had left their mark. Even now, paler than ever, sicklier than ever, I could see the outline of muscle on his arms and stomach. I have to admit it didn't elicit the desire for an innocent cuddle, the way our Gryffindor boys did. But I wondered how it felt for Pansy to slip into the space between his arms and his chest … how it felt for Daphne … how it might have felt for me, if we would only shut up for a moment and …

I stiffened, his words finally hitting my brain.

"Knew what?"

"That your father was cheating. He's known for months. I knew too."

He sounded smug as he said it, like there was some sort of point that he had succeeded in proving. I felt like I had just been stabbed.

" _You_ knew? And you didn't think to tell me?" I spluttered, betrayed by the person most likely to betray me and having the gall to be shocked about it.

Malfoy shrugged.

"You're impulsive; can't keep your mouth shut. Blaise doesn't need that sort of mess."

I could feel my lips quiver from the swirl of fury and hurt inside me.

"This concerns my _family,_ " I snarled, jabbing him in the bare chest hard enough to leave a mark. "You don't get to decide! How could you know and not think to — did you take me there last night on purpose to hurt me?" I demanded. "Did you know he would be there with her?"

"No," said Malfoy firmly, looking worried now. "I wouldn't do that."

But even as he said it, he seemed well aware that that was exactly the sort of way he'd have gotten his kicks any year prior.

"Yes you would," I said sadly, before shutting the door behind me.

I walked to St. Mungo's not knowing what to think. I was horribly early, so I settled in at the fifth floor tea shop with a cup of earl grey and tried to plan out how — and if — to speak with my mother about all that I knew. I was so preoccupied that I hadn't noticed Anthony Goldstein show up at my table until he tapped me on the shoulder, eliciting an inhuman shriek from my end.

"Heidi, I'm so sorry!"

I shook my head, hand over my pounding heart.

"Not your fault," I managed to say. I pulled a chair out for him.

"How's it going?" he asked me.

"Oh, you know," I said as I reflected on the fact that within the past seventy-two hours I had witnessed Narcissa in rehab, seen Malfoy Manor reduced in half, found out my family was falling apart, gone to a bar with Malfoy, slept in his bed, and accused him of seducing me. "The usual."

"Why are you here so early?" he asked.

"Just wanted some tea," I said, leaving out the part where I had run away from Malfoy. "What about you? We don't start for another hour and a half."

"Oh, I was here for a chat."

"With me?" I asked.

"No. I mean, I am now! But I was talking to my principal about doing this over the summer. They said they might be taking applications."

I watched a flush rise on his freckled cheeks, and remembered what Malfoy had revealed to me about Anthony the night before. I had never really given him a proper look. Sure, we had been together at D.A. meetings, but he had always stuck closer to the Ravenclaw side of the room, and I had spent most of my focus on learning the magic. Now that I was sitting leisurely with nowhere else to be, I gave him the respect he deserved and took him in properly.

He was a sweet-looking boy - certainly more handsome than Neville - with a dark mop of curly hair, and warm brown eyes. He seemed like just the right candidate for a first kiss at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

"Is Terry around?" I asked.

"Are you looking for him?" replied Anthony, looking a little disappointed.

"I was just wondering if he was applying too."

"Er, no… I haven't told him. I'd appreciate if you wouldn't mention it either. It's a once in a lifetime sort of thing and he wouldn't really value it anyway. Of course, you're more than welcome to apply for it. I think they're taking two! Wouldn't that be brilliant, us working together?"

"Beats Malfoy," I said with a happy shrug, taking a sip of tea and hoping the caffeine would pull me through the day. I had made up my mind to not, under any circumstances, end up in Malfoy's bed tonight. "Are your parents wizards?" I asked, after a silent moment.

Again, Anthony looked awkward.

"Why? Does it matter?"

"No, of course not! I was just curious. I've nothing against Muggles at all. In fact I'm really bummed out that we don't get to take Muggle Studies this year. I'd just figured out how to cook properly without using magic."

He looked slightly relieved.

"Just my dad is a wizard. Mum's a Muggle. She's still nervous about this whole thing — wanted me to attend Oxford instead and become a real doctor."

"Are healers and doctors very different?" I asked, not knowing much about the subject besides a few rudimentary details I had read in a book once.

Anthony smiled, revealing a slight but endearing gap in his front teeth.

_Definitely a candidate for a Puddifoot's kiss._

"Depends who you ask. If you ask my dad, doctors are nutters with knives while healers actually fix you; if you ask my mother, I may as well have opted to pursue clown school."

I frowned.

"She doesn't like magic?"

"She views it more like a hobby," he explained.

"But … how can it be a hobby? You're a wizard. This is the wizarding world. It's a perfectly legitimate career."

"You think so?" he asked.

"Well, of course! Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged, looking down at his lap.

"Malfoy would only think I'm half a wizard."

I frowned once more.

"I'm not Malfoy."

"Of course you aren't!" Anthony said quickly. "Just, your brother also—"

"I'm not him either."

"I suppose if you were, you wouldn't be quite such a loser," came a familiar drawling voice from behind me. I didn't bother hiding my groan. "Come on, Zabini, it's time for day three. Boot," Malfoy said, nodding shortly at Anthony.

"Goldstein!" we snarled in unison. I turned to Anthony. "I'm sorry, I have to go. But we'll talk later!" I promised, downing the last of my tea.

I made sure to overtake Malfoy as he walked, sick to death of his long-limbed strut.

"I see you paid attention to what I said last night," he said, eyes glinting with amusement. "When's the wedding?"

"I'm rather quite preoccupied with ensuring there'll be a funeral," I retorted. I flung my magenta robes over myself for the third time.

"Well you're doing a great job. At this rate, you'll simply irritate me to death."

I glared and pushed past him, only to feel his hand around my wrist. I jumped in surprise.

"We're leaving this here, by the way."

"Leaving what here?" I asked, his grip still on my arm.

"Our constant irreconcilable differences. I have no intention of bringing them into the wards and I would hope you feel the same. Professionalism is king, Zabini."

"Are you calling me unprofessional?" I snapped.

"I can do it all myself. I'm more than clever enough. But I'd prefer it if you had my back in there."

I chewed the inside of my cheek resentfully. Did he always have to get in the way of a perfectly good grudge lately?

"No promises," I said, for the sake of my pride. Of course I had his back.

And he seemed to have mine, when he wasn't busy stabbing it.

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I had almost survived the next day's train ride back sans incident, when Malfoy yanked me into an empty compartment. He eyed the open window on the compartment door with distaste and slid down the blinds. " _Muffliato._ "

"Is all this really necessary just for you to have another laugh at my expense?" I asked, still sour with him. Nothing, however, could beat how sour I was with myself for putting this whole disaster into motion. "You'll lose your audience if you keep the window covered like that," I said, gesturing at it.

"We need to clarify some things before we murder each other for good one of these days."

"Yes, Malfoy, please continue to cryptically bring up murder in a compartment you've blocked from detection," I said flatly.

"Sit," he commanded, pointing behind me.

"I beg your—"

" _Sit._ I'm not going to say any of this with you looming in front of me. I talk, you listen."

"I much prefer the game where you stuff yourself and I _,_ " I paused to bring up my middle finger in my most popular, Ferret-aimed gesture, "do this."

"Very clever. Now shut up," he said, pushing me backwards into a compartment seat.

"Malfoy!"

He wedged himself between my legs and kept me seated through the knowledge that if I tried to get up, I'd just end up pressed into him and off-balance anyway.

"A few things, Freakface." He straightened his shoulders as he looked down at me, eyes glinting, and punctuated every point he made by raising a finger. "One: I didn't laugh at you yesterday morning to mock you. One day, you're going to actually hear yourself talk from the perspective of a normal person, and you're going to understand why I nearly _died_ laughing. Two: no, actually, I don't pull girls into dark dungeon hallways unless they want me to. And believe me, Zabini, I ask first. Nor do I lay them down on my bed and hope they find me in the dark like some Hufflepuff. If I'm trying to become intimate, you'll know. Three: if some poor, misguided person wants to be with or around you because you're funny, then too bad, so sad for you. Guess what, Zabini? You don't look a damn thing like Daphne Greengrass. Deal with it. But I've never actually fallen asleep listening to _you_ talk, so maybe you should take that in stride."

"Er … was there a four?" I asked, feeling a little subdued with all this information, and noticing that he had ended up raising four fingers.

"Four is …" he swallowed and lowered his hand. "Complicated."

"Complicated?" I repeated.

He looked down at me, lips slightly parted. I knew he was holding a lot back, and I wasn't sure that I wanted him standing in between my legs when he unleashed it.

"Can I please stand up now?" I said impatiently.

"No. Be quiet. Look, you were right. I may as well say it since I know you'll rub it in my face anyway. You were right this morning. There was a reason I wanted you in my bed, but it wasn't to seduce you."

I squinted, trying to list in my head all possible reasons Draco Malfoy would ever want me in his bed. Ruling out the obvious had made it even more difficult and I was, suffice to say it, drawing a blank.

"I realized this a little while ago — or I felt it. The first time was in the Room of Hidden Things when we were talking about how to heal a broken nose. I fell asleep."

"I know," I said grumpily, reflecting on the sheer rudeness it took to fall asleep in the middle of revision.

"No, you don't understand. _I fell asleep._ "

"Yeah, and then I'm pretty sure you left to pee some time after. What's your point?"

Malfoy slammed a hand on the back of the compartment seat, making me flinch.

"Zabini, I don't sleep anymore. I haven't slept for a month. I — I close my eyes and maybe black out for an hour, but I don't _sleep_ ," he explained frantically. "Unless…"

I swallowed anxiously. Surely this wasn't going where I thought it was…

"Unless?" I prompted him.

Malfoy seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. He straightened up and drew himself away from me.

"Unless you're there," he said.

It felt like all the air had left the compartment.

"So this favour …"

"It's hardly anything. I just need you to share my environment. At night."

"You're asking me to sleep with you?" I spluttered.

"Look, just pretend I'm Granger, or something. Or your cousin — that hot one who lives in Wales."

"Yeah! Yeah, Malfoy, I reckon that makes it _more_ normal!"

"I'll pay you," he said desperately.

"You'll _pay me_? Like I'm some sort of … some type of—" I struggled momentarily to find exactly the right expression to convey my alarm. "Woman of the night!"

Malfoy waved this idea away with a lazy flick of the wrist.

"Believe me, Zabini, nobody thinks of you as a woman of the night. If anything, you're a woman of late noon when the lunch options get really good."

I stood up and began to pace.

"Can't you get Pansy to do it? I mean, you two are already mighty comfortable with each other if last New Year's Eve was any indication," I said, reflecting on the difficulty with which she had been pried off his lap that night. "Even if you aren't a couple," I added.

To my slight confusion, Malfoy looked uncomfortable at the thought.

"No. Pansy comes with … expectations. Ones I can't meet just now. And anyway, it doesn't work with her. I've tried."

"Ah, I get it. I don't come with any expectations. Heidi Zabini: she'll settle for just anything. Use her as a punching bag then use her as a pillow," I snapped, beginning to remind myself rather too much of Moaning Myrtle and yet unable to stop my heated diatribe.

Malfoy clenched his jaw so hard I could see a little vein pop out of it.

" _Fine_ ," he said through clamped teeth. "Forget I asked."

He crossed to the other side of the compartment, then thought the better of it and turned back to me, apparently determined to get a last word in.

"You think this was easy? Me coming to you with this? You think _I_ don't understand how utterly mental this is? I don't _know_ why the fuck it has to be you, but I don't even think I care because I am just that _tired_ , Zabini. I am fucking exhausted. You try not sleeping for weeks! So forgive me for thinking, after all your talks of Gryffindor loyalty and your shit promises, that you'd help me _not die._ "

"Well have you tried figuring out why can't you sleep?" I said, ignoring the bulk of what he said.

"You don't think! I suspect it has something to do with the day I had to save your fucking arse in Azkaban. Why Dumbledore sent you with me, I'll never know."

"If you think this has anything to do with Azkaban, you need to see Madam Pomfrey. She'll know what to do."

Malfoy shook his head.

"No. Either we do this, or I never sleep again. But no teachers, no Potter, no staff and no parents."

"So you're guilting me?" I said, arms crossed.

"That would only work if you cared even microscopically about me."

I chose to ignore his attempt to root around for my emotional status.

"Never mind the fact that this is, in general, utterly mad — how do you propose we actually do this? You're obviously not going into a dormitory full of females, so nice try. As for me, people will notice I'm slipping out at night. And I _will not_ go to your room. Crabbe and Goyle are nightmare fuel enough as it is, without me needing to personally hear their wet dreams play out," I said.

"I'm not an idiot, Zabini. We would meet in the usual room during regular hours and stay the night. It eliminates the need for sneaking around. The heads of house don't bother doing a nightly bed-check for sixth and seventh years, so as long as we're not in the corridors, it's fine."

"Let me get this straight: you want me to come to the Room of Requirement every night and put you to bed like I'm your live-in nanny?" I reasoned slowly. "Am I supposed to sing you lullabies and read passages from 'Nighty-Night, Dragon'?"

"Zabini—"

_"_ Are you forgetting that you've called me a bitch about a thousand times more than you've called me by my first name?" I asked, feeling like this was a point worth bringing up.

"Fuck, Zabini, I'm not asking for your virginity. And I'm not asking for every night. Whatever you can spare is infinitely better than the hell I'm currently in."

I looked out the train window at the countryside rolling by. We would be back at Hogwarts soon. Our games of adulthood were over, at least until Christmas. There would be no more hotels, just wandering teenage eyes tracking the status quo. How would we ever pull this off?

"I need to think about this."

"Fine," he seethed. "But I won't forget it. You promised me you'd—"

"I know what I promised you! But this is mental, if you look at it with any ounce of reason! How do I know this isn't some prank?"

"On _who?_ If anything, it's a prank on me! Think for a second about the pure irony of me having to fall asleep to the sound of your insufferable, whiny voice as you say something—"

"Funny," I reminded him.

"— stupid. And you are _always talking._ Have you noticed it yet? That you never shut up? I don't think you're capable of having a fleeting thought without airing it to the rest of us. So really, Zabini, who is getting pranked here?"

"I'm still going to go with 'me'," I said.

"Well you're wrong, then, because I'm being punished. I know I am."

"For what, exactly?" I said skeptically.

"For all my years of fun at your expense. And it _was_ fun, Zabini, and it always will be fun to get you to the point of screaming. But it's caught up with me, I know it. So I'm not running anymore. I guess it really is time for me to repent. So do us both a favour, and spare a fucking night."

It would be an absolute pain. Another complication. Another thing to hide. Malfoy was annoying, and snide, and judgemental, and it all got amplified whenever we were alone in closed spaces.

But it was almost winter, and he was almost warm.

 


	22. The Wardrobe Malfunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Another update for you all today. Hope you enjoy! Leave your thoughts if you have any.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

It was most strange to be back at school, even though I had only been gone a few days. I was not the only one that felt staying in London would have been just as fine as going back to class. Hubbub about everybody's trip circulated through the corridors, and all the sixth years seemed to be walking with extra importance, feeling more accomplished over the past few days than we had felt in a lifetime.

"And I looked at him and said 'I know you've been keeping in touch with those Death Eaters, Sanders, don't you bullshit me'!"

"No you didn't, Ron," interjected Harry. "We weren't allowed to speak to the suspects," he explained to Hermione, Ginny and I as we sat by the fireplace in an otherwise empty common room.

"Yeah…well I thought it. He could see my face, I bet. Only reason he confessed," said Ron, sinking back into his crimson armchair and looking heavily content with himself.

"You'd be confessing too, if you were on the other end of Moody's interrogation table. Who was it that told him you kept a picture of Hermione in your schoolbag without even being prompted?" Harry said, grinning.

"Does he really!" Ginny exclaimed happily, before snatching the bag from underneath the armchair. She pulled out a candid picture of Hermione looking particularly stressed next to a pile of books, hair up in a crooked ponytail. "Erotic."

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her knees while muttering something that sounded like 'asked for a normal picture'.

"Give that back!" yelled Ron as he took a dive for it, toppling Hermione's actual pile of books in the process.

I was relieved to see that in the ensuing bedlam, asking about my time at St. Mungo's had been forgotten.

"Anyway, you guys, I'll see you tom—"

"Hey, you never told us how your time with Malfoy was!" said Harry, catching everyone's attention once more.

I swallowed, trying to look casual. I would be meeting with him tomorrow to discuss the ground rules of our sleep experiment, and there was nothing I had wanted less than to be reminded of it.

"It was good. He behaved."

Ron snorted.

"Didn't try to do anyone in, did he?"

I shrugged. "Just me."

"And how's he feeling? Draco?" asked Harry.

"Seventy-seven point five percent murdery and one-quarter sexually aroused," I said, dripping with sarcasm, as I gathered my parchment and put it in my bag. "How on earth would I know how he's feeling?"

"No kidding! Why don't you write Malfoy a love letter and ask him yourself," Ginny said with a puzzled laugh that her boyfriend didn't seem to appreciate.

"This is serious, Gin."

"Of course it is," she agreed, kissing him on the cheek. "But it's getting late, don't you think? We've all got class tomorrow."

Reluctantly, Harry let up enough that I was able to escape to bed without looking suspicious. Once there, I threw myself down on the crimson blankets with a sigh, savouring my last night alone. I sent mental love to my silky red sheets, to my four blanket layers, to my Babbitty Rabbitty pyjamas that were always there to catch the last crumbs of my cauldron cakes…

My eyes snapped open.

Pyjamas … I had only brought along three pairs of pyjamas to Hogwarts, all from the same gift set … all with massive, moving heads on the front, back, and bottom…

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I rubbed my aching tailbone, having been thrown to the ground by Malfoy in Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Unlike our previous encounters in this classroom, however, this was an attack that was within curriculum guidelines.

"Help her up, Draco," said Tonks over her shoulder as she tended to Padma Patil. I locked eyes with my brother and looked away, overwhelmed by the urge to avoid.

"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently, hand outreached. I took it and allowed him to hoist me up just as class let out.

"Practice those defensive shields over the weekend please!" called out Tonks, looking displeased at the number of us that ended up bruised. "You wouldn't be the first Healers to get thrown out the window in the hospital wards."

"Yeah, but I'd probably be the first Healer to throw myself out," muttered Malfoy, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Did you pack your things for tonight?" he asked.

"Well what's there to pack, right?" I said, having decided that my Babbitty Rabbitty number would only be unleashed under desperate circumstances.

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't know your life, Zabini, or what you need to gather in order to make all this—" he paused to gesture to my face. "Possible."

"Toothpaste and a hairbrush."

"Of course," he said, obviously unable to help his smirk.

"Meet after dinner?" I double checked. He nodded and took off, leaving me to cope with this surreal reality alone.

A few hours later, after a half-eaten slice of fish pie, I had managed to extricate myself from my friends and politely reject Hermione's proposal to go chat with Dobby about his legal rights.

I found Malfoy lurking in a corridor that housed the door to the Room of Requirement. He looked agitated, like he had been feverishly debating something in his mind.

"So I guess we just have to picture a room with a bed?" I said.

"No, it has to be the usual room. The Room of Hidden Things."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because there's something in there that I need to keep an eye on. If we transform the room, we may break it, and I've only just begun to …"

"Begun to what? What is this thing, anyway?"

"A gift. For my mother."

I narrowed my eyes, inspecting him for truthfulness, and finally shrugged after being unable to find any tells.

"Fine. Do it, then," I said, gesturing to the blank patch of wall. The heavy, carved door appeared as it always did, and we walked inside to the muddle of items.

"We need rules, Malfoy," I said, turning to him. "Ground rules."

"Zabini, we've had them for years. Don't worry, I won't try to mount you," he said, smirking.

"Even still, this is too weird not to plan out. I already know I can't do this every night. Fridays are easiest. We have class together, so it isn't too strange to just continue hanging out from that. I have to keep my Saturday and Sunday evenings open in case of Quidditch practice anyway."

Malfoy shrugged.

"Fine."

"And the teachers have sort of made peace that kids are out later on Fridays, so it's not as suspicious," I continued.

"Agreed."

"And—"

"Yes to all of the above and more. Now can we get on with it? We're here to study anyway. Judging by the way you landed on your arse in Defence Against the Dark Arts, you need it."

I scowled and took out my books. We revised until quarter past ten, after which I pretended not to understand the material until quarter past midnight in an effort to delay the inevitable.

"Honestly, if you're still not getting it, you might as well drop out," said Malfoy snidely, clearly sick of looping his wand in the air to show me a spell I had already mastered a week ago. "I, for one, am going to bed."

I tried to kick him in the ankle as he walked by, but succeeded only in whacking my foot off the table in front of us. Cringing, I hobbled after him as he carved out a path between all the junk, leading us ultimately to a bed. I was pleased to realize that it was larger than the one at the Vauntmure.

"You're sleeping in your uniform?" he asked as I slid under the blankets.

"Yes. This uniform is my er … aesthetic. I sleep in it every night."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, looking both repulsed and confused.

"What _are_ you? Merlin, Pansy was right about—"

"FINE. I WILL GO CHANGE."

Huffing and muttering, I wandered through the room looking for something to disappear into in order to change clothes. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon the wardrobe around which I had once looked for my Beater's bat. I swung open the large wooden door and peered inside. It was just large enough to fit into.

I shrugged and stepped in, and quickly busied myself with stripping off layers.

Halfway through taking off my bra, I froze. There had been a voice, I was sure of it. I strained my ears, trying to make out what was being said, but it all sounded sort of like a buzz. So distracted was I by listening to the voices that I had stopped pulling on my pyjama top.

To my horror, the door swung open.

"Zabini—"

"NO!" I shrieked, but it had been too late. His eyes were parked firmly on the space between my neck and stomach.

"Oh my god, oh my god, omigod," I groaned, tangled in the sleeves of my oversized pyjama shirt.

I could still feel him there, door open.

"GET OUT!" I screeched, trying to kick him while keeping a firm grip on my chest to prevent any further wardrobe malfunctions.

"I was just … I … you shouldn't go in here, it's—"

But I barely heard him as I threw the door closed. Was there no end to mortification when Malfoy was involved? Did this need to happen on a constant, unrelenting basis?

No, it did not.

After pulling my pyjamas on fully, I set about gathering my stuff as quickly as possible. This sleepover was not happening, tonight or ever.

"Zabini."

I ignored him, stuffing my pastel pink bra into my bag, not caring that he saw it. He'd clearly overshot the 'seeing' mark anyway.

"Zabini."

I threw all my quills and parchment into the smaller inside pocket.

"Zabini!" He grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?"

"Preferably? The end of the galaxy. Realistically? The depths of my dormitory room, never to emerge again."

"Zabini, come on. It isn't a big deal. Not like I haven't seen…" But even he couldn't complete his lie. He was looking somewhere above my head. "Either way, you don't have to leave over it."

"Are you kidding me? You, the person I would have picked last besides Severus Snape and _literally_ You-Know-Who, have just seen my breasts. I don't think the universe has ever sent me a clearer cue to leave."

"Come on, Zab—"

"And you don't have to worry about telling the school how absolutely hideous I am. I'll get right on that so you don't get a chance to," I snapped.

"I'm not going to tell the school! I'm not twelve! And anyway, there isn't much to say. They're … you know…"

He looked at his shoes.

"Good. If you weren't … you know… attached to them."

My jaw dropped open so low I was afraid it had come unhinged.

"Did you just _review_ my breasts?" I asked in the deadliest of tones **.**

Malfoy groaned in frustration.

"Look, let's just forget this happened."

"You know what? That is an excellent idea!" I said, rooting around for my wand. What was the wand movement for _Obliviate_ again? Something, something, up then down?

"Are you kidding me?" he protested, snatching my wand out of my hand. "Go sit down, you absolutely neurotic mess."

I scowled as he led my by the shoulders to an armchair.

"And by the way, what the _hell_ are you wearing?" he asked.

"Pyjamas, idiot."

"There is a face on them _._ " He circled around me, puzzled. "On both sides!"

"It isn't a human face, Malfoy, relax!"

"You're damn right it isn't. What in Merlin's name is that?"

"Babbitty Rabbitty!" I said as I sat down. "Gosh, didn't your parents ever read to you?"

He ignored my question and looked at me with an expression of dismay.

"How on earth did you get so fucking _nuts?_ "

"Says the newest addition to the psychotic empire!"

He crossed his arms, shaking his head, and muttering something that sounded offensive. I was having none of it tonight.

"Are we just going to sit here all night?" I demanded. "Hurry up and go to sleep so I can leave!"

Malfoy sighed violently, then got up and began to strip his clothes off. I brought a hand up to somewhat shield my eyes as he took to unbuttoning his grey trousers, shirt already discarded.

"Uh excuse me! What exactly—"

"Unlike you, Zabini, I sleep like a normal person. I'm not wearing trousers to bed; I don't care if you're on it, under it, or beside it."

"Do you have some sort of deep, personal grudge against pyjamas?" I snapped, as I realized he intended on sleeping in his boxers.

He pointed to the giant-headed cartoon rabbit bobbing up and down on my chest.

"What do you think? And anyway, it's hot in here."

"It is snowing!" I exclaimed, following him back to the bed. He threw the blankets back and got in, leaving space for me. I pursed my lips and covered it back up.

"Don't think I will, thanks," I said, before grabbing a pillow and lowering myself onto the floor beside it, feeling clever. I knew I had to be in the room. No one said anything about having to be in the bed.

Malfoy looked down at me over the edge, eyebrow raised.

"Pass me a blanket, please."

A large, grey woolly blanket hit me in the head.

"The good blanket."

"Don't think I will, thanks," he mocked, and, judging by the fact that its edge had disappeared from my view, he had wrapped himself in it with great purpose.

I called him something I hadn't resorted to since last summer, but it went ignored. He put out the wishbone candle on the night-table beside the bed, leaving me on the floor, alone and unbearably cold.

Five-hundred and seven counted sheep later, I began to realize that my genius plan hadn't been so genius.

"Malfoy?" I said timidly, wondering if there would be a response at all. He was probably asleep by now.

"Yes?" he mumbled.

"Do you know how to do a warming enchantment?"

"On an object?" he asked.

"No, on a person," I replied.

He thought about this for a moment.

"I know how to set you on fire."

I huffed.

"That isn't what I'm asking! Can you warm up my blanket?"

"No. I don't know how to do a warming enchantment."

"But you said you could on an object!" I complained.

"No," he said impatiently, "I asked you if you meant on an object."

I sat up to look at him through the light of my wand. He was laying on his side, back towards me. The blanket that he had so greedily kept was being used only to cover the waist down. I pouted. Blanket waster.

"Can … can I come up there with you?" I whispered meekly after a few more minutes, deeply ashamed of myself. I could practically picture the smirk on the other side of his head as he shifted to make room for me to clamber up. His body was merely shadow in the dark now that the light from my wand had gone out.

Now, no longer drunk or overwhelmed by witnessing tragedy, I was fully present in the moment. And the moment was making me nervous.

"Is there any chance we can try doing this with the light on?"

"You're the stuff of nightmares, you know," he muttered. " _Incendio_." The wishbone candle relit, and he looked grim and somewhat gaunt beside the flame. Possessed by something I couldn't identify, I reached out and brushed his hair back into place, in an effort to make him resemble himself. He stared at me and I caught on to what I'd done.

"I — sorry, I…" I wasn't sure if I had just broken about a dozen Malfoy-Heidi rules of coexisting, but it certainly felt like it. Before I could think of an acceptable reason for basically caressing his head, he was staring straight ahead as if nothing had happened.

"I'm so bloody tired," he said bitterly, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. "I'm sick of it."

"Try closing your eyes."

He smirked. "What, so you can kiss me?"

I sighed. So we _were_ going to discuss the hair stroking - just through sarcasm and veiled references.

"No, idiot. So that your eyes stop burning."

"Fine," he conceded, shutting them.

I had every intention of doing the same, I really did. But the motion of something black under candlelight caught my gaze.

The Dark Mark stood raised against the rest of his skin, ruining it. I watched the snake retract half-way into the skull's mouth, then come back out again. I drew my fingertips across it, just barely.

He shifted and I snapped my hand away. I wondered if touching it had hurt him, but by the way his chest rose and fell, all seemed fine. Carefully, I resumed my attempt to snuggle into the blanket, scolding myself for what I had done.

I realized then that the amber cologne whose vapours had once signalled dread had suddenly turned into a welcome smell. I let myself take another peek at Malfoy. I didn't want to stare at him à la Myrtle, but it was just so _bizarre_ to have him in my bed, dozing peacefully as if it was exactly where he belonged.

"I can feel you staring, Zabini."

"It's just so strange, though, isn't it? Us like this," I whispered.

"As I said before, it's the stuff of nightmares."

He turned back onto his side, and I did the same in the opposite direction.

"Goodnight, Pointless Zabini," he breathed.


	23. Not a Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I’m back with yet another update that came about sooner than anticipated (yay). Do tell me what you think, and feel free to leave some love if you so desire. 
> 
> ~ Anna =)

I awoke the next morning expecting to be surrounded by red. Instead, I was quite literally surrounded by Malfoy. Our limbs had somehow gotten tangled in the middle of the night, but freeing my legs from his was only half the battle. It was his arms, locked around my waist, that had caused me the most trouble. I had to forcibly pry them apart to get him to let me go.

I stole a glance at the watch he left on the night table and cursed when I realized we had slept until noon. I'd wanted to be back in my dorm bed at seven, knowing that none of the girls (Hermione included) could be bothered to get up before half-past eight. So much for excelling at sneaking around.

I spared one last look at Malfoy, dozing calmly under blankets. For all of the discomfort he caused me during waking hours, I had no choice but to accept the fact that I had never slept so well, especially when it was cold outside. Stupid Malfoy.

I grabbed my things and left in search of food.

I found my friends still in place at the Gryffindor table, animatedly discussing something.

"Hey, Heidi!" said Ron as he scooted over to make room. "We were just talking about Christmas. Harry and Hermione'll be coming with me for the holidays this year. Gin too, obviously."

"That sounds really lovely," I admitted, sounding a little bit wistful as I grabbed a half-cold omelette from a silver platter. Everybody who knew me knew I had my own set of reasons for despising holiday breaks, and those reasons were very blond.

"Well we were wondering, seeing as we can never get to you in time, if you finally wanted to come stay? Percy'll be staying at his girlfriend's, so there's an extra room."

"Oh, Ron, I would love to! Only thing is…"

"Your parents have some big event planned," said Harry, repeating the unfortunate excuse I'd been forced to use for years.

"Yeah. It's a little easier to get out of it when it's hosted at Malfoy's, but I'm pretty sure my parents'll be doing it this year in light of all the … issues."

The trio looked at me sympathetically and I tried to pretend like I was wholly unaffected, which would have been a little bit easier to do with food I didn't need to cut with a knife.

"I think your brother wants you," said Hermione, nudging me. I looked up at the Slytherin table, where Blaise was sitting with Theodore Nott. He was beckoning me over the way one would beckon over a waiter's assistant.

"What do you think it's about?" she asked.

"Administrative family matters," I replied. They looked at me blankly. "Oh, you know. What I'll be wearing to New Year's so we can avoid matching colours, who'll help Mum write the invitations for the Christmas cocktail party, that sort of thing."

I put my fork down and made my way over, ignoring Nott as he looked me up and down with great curiosity. Blaise pointed to a spot on the bench and snappishly ordered me to sit. To my supreme annoyance, Malfoy walked in at just the same time and Blaise's attention went straight to him, leaving me sitting awkwardly next to a clan of hostile teenagers.

"Heidi, close your ears for a second. This isn't for you," said Blaise, ignoring me when I pointed out he'd been the one to call me over. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, the heavens above have allowed me to bear witness to art last night. Absolute art."

"What?" said Malfoy, arching an eyebrow as he poured himself a coffee. He was ignoring me despite being situated directly across from me, which I thought was rather rich of someone who had spent yet another night breathing into my neck.

"I spent the night paying homage to the most _delicious_ bosom."

I said a silent prayer to Merlin for a subject change and tried to look anywhere but in the direction of the two Slytherins, blond one in particular.

"I've no idea where you were, or I'd have gotten you. We snuck Eleanor Smith and her Hufflepuff friend into the dorm room," explained Blaise.

I recognized the name as belonging to a Ravenclaw seventh year.

"You'd have gotten me? To help you stare at Eleanor Smith's breasts?"

"No, no. Not stare. It was er … bit more active than that."

"Blaise!" I hissed, arms crossed over my chest. Again, I went ignored.

"But anyway, she had a friend that was asking about you. They were both absolutely divine. Practically carved from marble."

"The pair of breasts or the pair of friends?" Malfoy drawled, now biting into a piece of whole grain toast.

"Mate, _both._ Like I said, Theo and I tired to find you. We're worried for your health, you know; you're looking rather peaky these days. It must be weeks since you've been in the company of a nice pair of—"

"Blaise!" I begged.

I tried very hard to melt into the floor just then, and the desire amplified when Malfoy allowed himself to make eye contact with me. A dull pink flush rose on his cheeks as he re-traced the same line of vision that his eyes had travelled over yesterday. For the first time in his life, he looked stuck on what to say.

"Hasn't been that long, I suppose," he muttered.

I didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or complimented.

" _Do tell,_ " insisted Blaise with an eager grin. I shook my head threateningly, while trying to stay imperceptible to my brother and Nott. Malfoy, thankfully, had the good sense not to indulge the two.

"She's not your type, believe me," he said, averting my gaze completely.

"Oh I'm sure I'd manage to—"

"Is there a reason you're getting your sister to hover at our table?" Malfoy asked, gesturing at me with a butterknife.

Blaise blinked and looked at me, and I realized he had actually forgotten I was there.

"Mother wrote us," he said. "Says she wants us both home for the holidays to help plan Christmas."

"You couldn't just say that before?" I complained.

Blaise shrugged.

"Who's coming?" I asked as the familiar ball of dread began collecting in my stomach.

"None of your lot," he said quickly, before turning to Nott. "Are you coming?"

Nott nodded. Blaise turned to Malfoy.

"How about you, Draco? Are you coming for the parties?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, and I could tell he was trying to play something off as being more casual than it really was.

"I think I'll actually be staying at your place for the entirety of the winter break."

"Right," said Blaise awkwardly. "How are the repairs coming along on the Manor?"

It was all I could do not to kick him. What repairs? Who would manage them? The one House-Elf that had decided to stay amongst the rubble?

"We won't be doing those for another season or two," said Malfoy, succeeding in looking dignified.

"There you boys are! I was looking for you!" announced Pansy as she slid in next to Malfoy. She looked at me with an expression of disgusted puzzlement. "Is she hanging out with us now?" she asked Blaise. "If you are, I have a question for you."

"Parkinson, I'm really busy, alright? I'll teach you how to spell some other time," I said as I got up from the table.

"Are you aware that Goldstein was just on his way to ask you out?"

I froze.

"What?"

"Don't look so worried, Heidi dearest. I caught him in the hallway right before he was about to go and told him _all_ the reasons why that would be his worst mistake yet." She finished this off with a veritably smug grin.

Blaise and Nott burst into hoots of laughter while my brain tried to quantify what kind of 'reasons' she could have possibly given. I looked at Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow into his coffee mug but said nothing. Pansy turned expectantly to him, apparently realizing that he hadn't joined in on the laughter.

"I'm sure Draco could have added a few reasons, couldn't you, Draco?"

"I think Goldstein knows what he's signing up for," he said neutrally, leaving both Pansy and I annoyed for what I'm sure were different reasons. Then again, what could I have expected out of him? He'd already admitted that he hadn't wanted to gouge his eyes out at the sight of me last night. It was probably best to have his blessing in small doses.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

With every passing Friday, Malfoy and I fell further and further into a routine, until sleeping with the enemy became a most natural state of being. We would meet under the guise of studying, and then, when it was dark enough outside that we were convinced no deities above could see what we were doing, I would leave to change into my pyjamas.

"I won't look, Zabini, I swear."

"I really would rather change in that talking wardrobe."

"It isn't a wardrobe, it's a … never mind what it is. I swear on my mother that I will not look, just _go!_ "

It was a hard battle to win and I, quite frankly, had no modesty left to fight for anyway. Stripping behind the troll statue it was.

On the third shared night since London, things got even weirder. Malfoy, after announcing in no ambiguous terms that each of my three pyjama sets had been worse than the last, threw a dark green t-shirt at me. I peeled it off my shoulder.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Your new nightdress."

"This is your shirt," I said, holding it up in front of him as if I were in court clutching incriminating evidence.

Malfoy sighed irately.

"It's clean."

"It smells like mean blond kids."

"If I've worn it at all in the past two weeks, then it was only once," he stated.

"Aha! So it isn't clean," I pointed out. "It smells like you and you've worn it once."

_Maybe I should've gone into the Auror program, after all._

He crossed his arms stiffly, having none of it.

"Zabini, I will not be subjected to your hideous Beedle the Bard themed rags any longer. It is causing me prolonged mental suffering. The whole point of this was to _ease_ my mental suffering, wouldn't you agree?"

"Well what about my mental suffering?" I challenged. "I have no way of knowing what you did in this."

I held up the offending garment.

"Or who," we said in unison, Malfoy looking very bored.

"Yes, yes, Zabini, very hilarious. Would've been funnier if I couldn't predict the punchline, but we make do with what wit we have, I suppose. Now either change into that or give it back."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, looking at the shirt. There was nothing objectively wrong with it. It was soft and large, and it smelled like a very nicely scented mean blond kid, which I suppose was my preferred variety. But I was falling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole, and there was always an excuse for every level I descended to. Drinking with Malfoy … sleeping with Malfoy … wearing his shirt … what was next, marrying him so he felt better?

"Well?" he said.

When I came back from behind the troll statue, he was already in bed with his nose in a malevolent-looking book. He looked up briefly when I walked in, then did a double take.

"What?" I asked, all too aware that the damn thing practically went down to my knees. "Does it look stupid?"

"Extremely."

"Well, it's comfortable I suppose," I said, tugging it down more so that it really did go to my knees.

"Good."

I nodded before taking out _Hopkirk's Guide to Anatomical Ailments - Potions Edition_ and taking my place beside him on the bed. We read in a peace that had surpassed all records, especially the measly ones we'd set before.

"How are you feeling about going home this week?"

I looked over at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, did you just ask about my feelings as if I were a real person?"

I couldn't help but say it, even if I knew it sounded like a great start to a bickering match.

"Well, no one's here to hear me are they?" he replied. "Anyway, answer the question."

"I'm nervous, Malfoy," I admitted. "I can't keep cool like you. I honestly might try to throw something at him."

"I wouldn't advise it."

"I know. But what else am I supposed to do, seeing a sick thing like that?"

Malfoy shrugged.

"Know your place and stay within it."

"I'm pretty sure that's not something I know how to do."

He rolled his eyes, many examples no doubt coming to mind.

"You're just going to have to learn."

"I think the better bet is making sure all the breakables are put away," I admitted. I put my book to the side, giving him my full attention. "And how are you feeling about erm … _not_ going home this week?"

Malfoy looked down at the blanket he was thumbing and shrugged.

"Can't do anything about it now, can I?"

"What about me?" I asked quietly.

He frowned.

"What about you?"

"Is there anything I can do about it?"

To my great surprise, he smiled bemusedly down at me with … was that affection?

"My god, Zabini, could you be any more of a Gryffindor? You've got a million problems you're about to come home to, and you're trying to make room for mine?"

I scoffed.

"You're a guest in my home, Malfoy! I'm just trying to make sure you're comfortable!"

Malfoy laughed and blew out the candles, before tugging the pillow we had shared to prop ourselves up back to his side.

"Don't worry about me, Zabini. I daresay I'm comfortable enough."

I remained sitting upright, trapped in my eternal, anxiety-laden thoughts. He reached out and traced my cheek with the back of his hand, gently drawing me back to him.

"But thank you."

It had been a nothing. A throw-away touch. He probably wouldn't have ever bothered using it on an actual girl; they'd be too busy getting to the good stuff. I closed my eyes and slipped down the bed, hating my brain for always making something out of nothing. I waited for him to turn away from me as usual so that we could get to sleep, but if anything his breath drew closer, and as it ricocheted off my cheek, it left me full of hopes that I had no business having.

"Zabini…" he breathed in a whisper. I opened my eyes. He was suddenly above me, propped on his hands, looking down with a conflicted expression. This was not a nothing. "Are you going to say yes to Goldstein?"

"What?"

"He's going to ask you out. Are you going to say yes?" he asked urgently.

"I — I haven't thought of … _why?_ " I spluttered.

"You can't."

" _What?_ "

"Because if you do, you'll stop coming around. I know you will. We wouldn't be able to …" But he refused to continue, leaving me to wonder what it was that we wouldn't be able to do.

 _Carry on with these nighttime meetings, for one thing_.

"Malfoy, come on…" I began nervously. I didn't yet know where I was going with this. "I can't die alone right? I'm going to have to kiss some poor victim sometime," I said with a small laugh. My smile faded as he stayed propped above me, grey eyes boring into mine. "Or maybe I'll just die alone, as per the original plan."

He said nothing, although I was now very aware that his eyes were on my mouth.

"Malfoy, please…" I urged, and I had the faintest fear that I was begging him to close the distance between us, not lengthen it. He must have slipped inside my mind and understood exactly what it was I was asking for, because instead of drawing away from me as he should have, he gently traced the outline of my mouth with his fingers.

"Promise me you won't say yes to him," he whispered as I closed my eyes.

His words registered, and flames of wanting were suddenly muted by flames of anger. I pushed him off of me.

"Are you serious? Is there literally _nothing_ you're too ashamed to ask from me nowadays?"

"Zab—"

"I care about you, Malfoy. I do. In fact, probably too much, as I'm sure you've noticed by now. But even I'm not stupid enough to be manipulated like this by you." I shook my head in disbelief. "I agreed to meet up and help you, and I have no intention of going back on my word. But Anthony is smart, and kind, and if he sees me romantically — a struggle for you to understand, I'm sure — then I am not going to _promise you_ that I'll reject him. He's done nothing to deserve that. And quite frankly, nor have I."

Malfoy sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. Wordlessly, he turned away.


	24. Mint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know it's been a little while, but I’ve finally got another chapter on hand for you, and this one was thoroughly enjoyable to write. Hope it's enjoyable to read as well! 
> 
> Thank you so much for those of you leaving Kudos and comments, and any other form of love. Do let me know what you think of this one as well.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Heidi, can I talk to you a moment? Alone?" asked Hermione.

My heart dropped. I swallowed the last of my mint chocolate frog with an audible gulp. We were on the train home for the holidays and there was nowhere to run if the subject of the conversation was something I'd have preferred it not to be.

"Sure," I said, getting up to follow her out of our train compartment. Ron, Harry and Ginny looked at Hermione with mild curiosity.

"Just … I heard something a little funny," she told me once we were situated comfortably in the next compartment over. "And forgive me if it's personal, but I thought that maybe if I brought it up, you might realize what's going on. If you haven't already, that is."

"O—okay."

"There's a certain … boy … who seems to care about you very much. I'm not sure if you see it, but we all do. And it's a little unexpected, I know, so I understand your hesitation in dealing with it. But you're going to need to face him at some point and sort this all out, Heidi. He's having a bad enough year as it is."

My mouth went utterly dry.

"I … I know." I looked down at my knees, ashamed. "If you ask me, the horrible thing is that I think I might like him too."

"Oh?"

"But it's so complicated, Hermione, you've no idea. And it's awful. It goes against every shred of world order."

"Well, I'm sure it isn't easy, especially with the family issue standing in between you two. But if you really care about him, it'll work. They'll come around eventually and accept the situation for what it is."

I tried very hard to picture Narcissa Malfoy welcoming me into a familial hug without digging her nails into my back at the same time.

"Well, they're not really fans of me, as we all know," I explained.

"I'm sure—"

"But that isn't really the main issue. It's everything else. There's a whole history between us, you know, and that in itself is hard enough. I don't know if I trust him."

"I know he was a bit of a competitive prat, especially in second year, but he's really different now, Heidi. He's grown up. We all have," she said with a hand on my shoulder.

"Er … sort of, I guess?" I said. I could still count on multiple hands the names he had called me this year, so I wasn't sure that 'really different' was an accurate description.

"For what it's worth, I think you should give him a chance."

"Right, but I don't think he _wants_ a chance. It isn't like he's come up to me confessing his love or anything," I argued.

"Well, of course he hasn't! You keep running away from him!"

Shit.

She'd been talking about Anthony all this time.

"How did you know that I ran from him?"

It had been a horrible scene that had repeated itself not once but twice. I remember how my stomach lurched each time as I saw him walking towards me, Terry nowhere in sight, leading me to understand that the moment of truth was coming. I found myself in the girls' lavatory both times, locked in a stall, first blaming myself for getting in the way of my own romantic happiness and then having the good sense to blame Malfoy too.

"Terry told Padma, who told Parvati, who told me."

"Naturally," I said, unable to help the feeling of annoyance at everyone being in my business these days. And yet, despite the increase in well-intentioned snooping, I realized something quite terrible: my friends didn't know the half of it. They didn't know one one-hundredth of it. Malfoy's shirt was probably burning a sinful hole in my suitcase as we spoke.

"I'm sorry. I can see you're annoyed. It's just that I feel quite bad for him …"

I nodded.

"I'll let him down easy next time."

"Please," she said with a warm smile.

We sat quietly for a moment, watching the countryside roll by through the frosted sheen on the window. We would be there soon enough — her at The Burrow, and me in hell.

"If it's the way it usually is, you'll have the sense to come to Ron's, won't you?" Hermione insisted.

I stole a look at Malfoy, who had walked past the compartment with my brother in tow. The two were snickering about something.

"If it's the way it usually is," I mumbled, sensing very much that it would be.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Draco Malfoy was a ghost in my home yet again. Or maybe I was. Either way, our paths hardly crossed for days, and when they did, he didn't so much as look at me. I figured it was for the best. I needed sanity to survive the holiday season, and having Malfoy run his fingers over any part of me even once more would be enough to drive me certifiably insane. To my luck, he hadn't attempted to re-ignite our sleeping arrangements.

On the third day back, just as everybody had set out to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in London, I fell ill with the foulest flu I'd had in years.

"Are you absolutely certain you do not need us to stay home? I would hate to leave you like this."

Blaise, Malfoy and my mother were all standing by the fireplace in the main hall, bowl of Floo powder in hand, looking at me for a final verdict.

"No, no, you guys—" I turned away to sneeze violently. "Sorry. You guys go on. I've got Roley to look after me. But I'll be accepting pity in the form of treats from any of the —" Another sneeze. "Fabulous locations along the Alley. Diagon not Knockturn," I said to Malfoy, who ignored me. So much for breaking the tension.

"Your father should be home within the next two hours. Do bother him if you need anything," my mother said as she pulled on her travelling gloves.

I nodded and shooed them all away with a wave of my germ-ridden tissue. Privacy was a scarce commodity at my house, especially when the holiday parties began, and I was looking forward to having a lie in with the knowledge that Draco Malfoy wasn't a mere two doors away.

My dreams were turbulent as usual, however, and when I woke up an hour later soaked in sweat, my desperation for a hot cup of ginger tea was indescribable. I threw a housecoat over my pyjamas and set off groggily for the kitchen downstairs.

"Oof!"

"Oh goodness, I'm so sorry!"

I thought at first that one of my nightmares had followed me into the mortal world. There she stood, in a pink lace dress — the redhead from the bar. She was holding a glass of white wine in one hand and had an ivory leather wristlet in the other.

"Who are you?" I demanded in a tone harsher than I was usually comfortable using.

"Madeleine Walsh."

I waited for her to state her purpose, but instead was greeted with a bubbly white smile.

"Are you Heidi?" she asked, extending her hand to shake mine.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, your father's told me loads and loads about you. Aren't you studying to be a Healer?"

"And how do you know my father?" I asked, ignoring with great difficulty her attempts at baiting me into pleasantries.

"We work together."

"That's not possible. He's the only human working at Gringotts."

I had spent many nights since I first saw her deducing this.

She laughed — a horrible, tinkling sound — and nodded.

"I don't work at Gringotts, darling. I work for Corbus Wizarding Bank," she explained. "Though you do know your stuff!"

If possible, I was even more irritated at the delighted surprise in her tone.

"There's no such thing. It's only Gringotts."

"We're headquartered in Greece and set to open within the year. It's a tough market to crack, banking. Especially since we've all become so reliant on Goblins. But your father is helping us make it—"

"Anyway, why are you here?" I interrupted, wanting an end to the chit-chat. Her smile slid off her face somewhat.

"To work, of course. It's an important time of the year for your father and I when it comes to deals. All of the important men are just that crucial little bit fuller, drunker, and happier these next few weeks; the word 'no' tends to slip out of their vocabulary."

My jaw clenched.

"Right. Well … good luck."

I turned on my heel and went back to my bedroom, taking advantage of my mother's absence by loudly slamming the door. I didn't emerge until dinner, where I was forced to share a table with _her_.

"Heidi, could you pass the bread rolls?"

I stared at the invader, with her porcelain skin and her perfectly symmetrical face, and did not pass the bread rolls.

"Heidi?" my mother prodded, looking at me as if I'd sprouted an extra arm. "What are you doing?" she breathed, barely audibly. It was then that I caught Malfoy's gaze, and for the first time since Hogwarts, he didn't look away. Instead, he gave a tiny shake of the head, and I knew instantly what he was trying to tell me.

Resentfully, I passed her the food.

Hours later, once we had all parted into various rooms of the house, a knock sounded on my door.

"Mum, I don't need any more orange juice," I groaned. She had been sending entire pitchers up with the House-Elf ever since she had returned from doing her shopping.

"I don't think I've ever actually been in here but I swear, Zabini, this is exactly how I pictured it."

Malfoy cringed, stepping slowly into my proudly obnoxious bedroom.

"It's like Godric Gryffindor vomited all over your walls, and instead of remedying it, you hired Loony Lovegood to do the carpet."

"Why do you sound so surprised, Malfoy?" I asked, pulling my neon orange duvet over my face.

"I already know you look like trash, Zabini, no sense suffocating yourself over it," he said as he gently tugged it off to reveal what I knew was a puffy-eyed, runny-nosed monstrosity.

"Haven't spoken to you in a while," I said cooly — or at least, I hoped it had come across that way through the nasally undertones of my voice.

"Not going to run from me, are you? I'm not Goldstein, after all."

I pulled the duvet over my head again. I was too sick to quarrel with anybody, and the anxiety of being around that woman coupled with the bug that I'd caught was making my stomach churn.

"No. Go away."

He hadn't.

"Malfoy, honestly, why are you here? It's so late, and I'm too sick for this. If you're here to sleep—"

"I'm here to talk."

I peeked out from under the duvet.

"You mean to apologize for ignoring me all this time?"

He glared at me.

"No. And if I were, now I don't want to. You should know better than trying to guilt an apology from me."

I sighed and felt around for a tissue box. "Go on, then. Talk."

He threw me the box as if reading my mind.

"Seems like someone was acting out at the dinner table."

"I didn't hear her ask for the stupid rolls."

"Sort of like how I didn't hear you ask to join in on cards with myself and your brother yesterday?" he asked, and I knew he was seconds away from a smirk.

It was true; I had stooped just that low in a confusing and short-lived desperation for ferret contact the morning before.

"You're going to want to be careful with this, Zabini. You have a very hyper-developed talent of bombarding your way into conflict, and although it's wonderfully cute to see you go all squeaky defending the Hufflepuffs Crabbe and Goyle try to shove into the toilet, this isn't school."

"Are you here to lecture me? Because it sounds to me like you're just here to admit I'm cute," I stated, before sneezing violently into his face.

"Which do _you_ think?" he said through grit teeth as I gasped and tried to wipe his neck with a tissue.

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Despite my dark, extended glares and my refusal to pass food at the dinner table, the woman did not leave. In fact, she had somehow ended up in one of the spare bedrooms for the duration of the week.

"But don't you think it's already cramped, with Malfoy here and all?"

My mother shot me a strange look.

"Of course not. There's plenty of room. And anyway, she's been a great help to your father in closing that deal he's been whining about for weeks now. If anything, we ought to be kissing her and begging her to stay."

I squirmed slightly.

"And er … if one of the family did kiss her … what erm … what would you say your reaction—"

"Zabini, can you come over here? There's a picture in one of our textbooks and I can't quite tell what it's meant to be."

I glared at Malfoy, who had appeared in the doorway and was tapping his fingers impatiently on the frame.

"Why don't you _ask_ _Blaise_ ," I insisted irritably.

"Oh, no, it takes a more refined eye; he just keeps saying it's pornography. Sorry, Mrs. Zabini," he said, nodding courteously at my mother, who looked as if she'd heard nothing that she hadn't already expected.

"It's quite alright," she said, before turning to me with an amused smile. "Well go on, Heidi, help them solve the mystery. I've got to get the house ready for tonight anyway."

Resentfully, I followed Malfoy into the family library.

"You're welcome, Zabini," he said with his arms crossed, no longer looking friendly but instead very annoyed. "Honestly, do I have spend my entire day following you around in order to censor you before you say something stupid?"

"I was just—"

"How many media shitstorms and Skeeter articles do I have to handle with dignity for you to realize that I know what I'm doing when it comes to this family crap?"

"Your father never ch—"

"My father's done other things that I knew better than to poke around in," he said. He bent down so that we were eye to eye. "Let it go, Zabini. No good can come of it."

I nodded, feeling skeptical nonetheless. I loved my father, but my unwieldily Gryffindor loyalties had always leaned towards my mother, especially now. To see somebody aim to get the better of her, to shame her in her own home — it was infuriating.

But Malfoy perhaps had been right about one thing; telling her bluntly may not have been the best course of action. I couldn't devise an alternative, however, due to the appearance of our House-Elf Roley in the doorway.

"Missus Heidi, I has your dress robes for tonight on your bed. You must go get ready now, Missus, or you will not finish on time."

I sighed and nodded at Malfoy, before leaving to begin the usual process of overhauling myself to better fit in with the decorations. The end result had been more successful than I was used to, due in part to a new set of Byzantine blue dress robes and my proper use of a curling iron for the first time in my life.

However, when I descended down into the quickly-filling ballroom, and spotted Pansy, Daphne and Tracey all looking like they had spent a full day with a personal stylist, I couldn't help but swerve into a corner to wait the night out in the shadows as per tradition.

The shadows had apparently left me more exposed than I'd hoped, because a familiar drawling voice sounded from beside me: "Well you look presentable for once, Zabini."

Was it possible to both roll your eyes at someone and hope that he meant what he was saying?

"Thanks, Malfoy, you're very pretty too."

He snorted and pushed a glass of sparkling pomegranate juice into my hand.

"This had better be spiked," I muttered as I observed the scene unfolding in front of me. Blaise had already found Tracey and was running a hand up her arm, while Pansy Parkinson's mother was both threatening Goyle's and simultaneously smiling at her.

To my relief, I tasted some wine in the mixture.

"Are you even allowed to be standing with me, Malfoy? Aren't there going to be social consequences of the direst order?"

"What, like people talking shit about me?" he asked, as two wizards I didn't recognize walked past, conversing unmistakably about 'those Malfoy cretins'.

I winced and offered up a sip of my drink, which he declined in a more civil manner than usual.

It was then that I spotted them — Walsh and my father, moving to a different room. I set my drink down, my eyes zeroing in on them with Seeker-like precision.

"Zabini—"

I threw Malfoy's hand off my wrist and pushed my way through the crowd, up the stairs, through the hallway, through the door…

"Heidi!" My father wiped his mouth and pushed her away. "I can explain this."

I ignored him and brought my gaze to her.

"I think you need to go," I spat.

"Heidi, do not give orders in my house," my father warned me. "Go downstairs and give us a moment, please," he said to her.

Wordlessly, she disappeared through the doorway.

"How did you end up in here?" he demanded.

"I followed you."

"What business do you have following me!"

"Does Mum know about this?" I asked, suspecting the answer.

"It is none of your concern if—"

"Yes it is! I'm not a stupid kid anymore; I know what you're doing!" I yelled.

"Madeleine is a work acquaintance."

"Like hell! I saw you two at _Obliviate_. If you don't tell Mother, I'm going to."

"Do not dare threaten me under my own roof!" he roared.

"You will tell her or—"

"I will do no such thing."

I tightened my lips, then stormed out with him on my heels.

"Heidi Zabini, you get back here or it will be the last time that you come home!"

Back through the hallway … down the staircase … into the ballroom…

"I am not joking, Heidi!"

I wheeled around.

"Say you're sorry!" I demanded, only mildly aware of the onlookers. My mother rushed over to us and grabbed me by the arm.

"Robert, what's going on?" she asked, panic-stricken. "Heidi, are you alright?"

"SAY YOU'RE SORRY!" I screamed at him, heartbeat pounding into my ears.

"Get your bags. You can stay with those slummy friends of yours, you can stay on the streets, but you sure as hell will not stay here!"

"FINE!"

I stormed past him and, to my disbelief, spotted her in a corner. I walked up to her, causing her to put down the wine she was drinking.

"I know my father has given you the impression that you're welcome here. But I'd just like you to know that I'm my mother's daughter too. So if we ever, _ever_ bump into each other under any circumstances again, in this house or out of it, kindly make sure that you walk the other way."

When I got to my room I collapsed immediately into a state of emotional chaos. I regretted everything almost instantly; you'd have to be mental not to. Malfoy had been completely and utterly right — I was a train wreck, an animal on the loose. I couldn't think before I acted and it would be the ruin of me and everyone I cared about.

It felt like only seconds had passed before the mattress beside me shifted, and I became distantly aware that somebody had taken to rubbing circles in my back.

"Come on, Zabini. It wasn't that bad. It was brimming with subtlety, really, if you overlook the screaming."

I put my head between my knees to try and stop hyperventilating.

"I don't want to be here. I feel c-completely alone. I just w-want to b-be w-with friends," I sobbed hopelessly. "There i-isn't a soul in this h-house that c-cares about me, and I d-don't understand why y-you all pretend to." I looked at his stoic, unaffected expression and sighed. "Well I suppose y-you're honest about not caring, at least. Thank you for that, M-Malfoy," I said, honestly meaning it. "I used to think it m-made things harder. But now I think it's the most stable, honest thing in my life: knowing that no matter what I do, you'll always find a reason to hate—"

He tasted like mint.

I had always sort of predicted he would.

My whole life I had expected my first real kiss to be awkward, terrifying, and unnecessarily drawn out. But there really hadn't been enough time. Between the urgency of his mouth on mine, the pull of his fingers through my hair, and his quiet but unmistakeable groan, I hadn't had a moment to feel anything other than completely wanted.

It had been easy, really, for me to give in and kiss him back. My mistake.

"Fucking shit!"

He pulled his lips off mine.

I wasn't exactly a kissing expert, but I was fairly sure boys weren't supposed to angrily serve up expletives after detaching from you.

"What's wrong?" I asked hoarsely. I was still hazy from the taste of him.

"You! You and all your fucking crying!" he snarled, wiping his mouth viciously with his sleeve.

"What?"

"I didn't come here for this, Zabini! I just — I wanted to see if you were alright, but—"

"But what?" I asked, beginning to panic. "Did I do it wrong? I'm sorry, I've never—"

"It isn't that," he said firmly. He had sprung up from the bed, and was now gripping his head in frustration. "I just never meant to do … that. But then you had to go and—"

"Then why did you?" I demanded, aghast. "You're acting as if I begged or something!"

"Well you might as well have, sitting there all weepy, talking about how much I despise you!"

I gawked at him.

"This house is always such a fucking _circus,_ " I whispered.

Numbly, I pushed past him to get to the suitcase that I had had the foresight to pack.

"We need to talk about this, Zabini," he insisted.

I wheeled around, luggage in hand.

"You kissed me. On the mouth. And now you're angry with me because apparently sobbing and talking about how much I can rely on you wanting me dead is the same as me launching myself on you. There's nothing more to say."

Malfoy took a step towards me.

"This changes _nothing_ between us."

"Oh, well, why should it? It's only a full-frontal kiss on the mouth. Same thing as punching each other, really."

"I—"

I wiped away a few stray tears, taking care that he didn't see it.

"Anyway, Malfoy, I'm off to The Burrow. Enjoy your run of my home. Try not to kick the House-Elf; we tend to like him."

I left, knowing that he wouldn't follow me. With every step I took, I felt liberated, even though it was on shaking knees. No more miserable holidays. I was a free agent, whether they liked it or not.

"Are you leaving?" came a female voice.

I turned to find that Pansy had followed me to the fireplace, confirming once more that the universe wouldn't cut me even the tiniest of breaks today.

"Yes."

"Already?"

"It's almost midnight," I pointed out. If anything, I deserved a trophy for making it that long.

"Right. It's just that we were thinking of having an afterparty."

"Good for you, then," I replied, looking over her shoulder in search of a Slytherin with a camera ready to photograph my reaction and use it against me.

"I was going to invite you."

I stared at her.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"Just … because."

"Right. Well I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm not exactly welcome here."

"I think you've made sure everybody's noticed that," she said with an amused laugh.

I sighed resentfully.

"Well I've got to give you people something new to work with, don't I? Can't just be the roof jumper forever."

"No, I suppose you can't."

We stood awkwardly looking at one another, neither of us seeming to know what to do.

She was dressed in brilliant emerald robes and her hair had been lengthened and pinned up into a chignon. But I supposed I didn't look too shabby either. In fact, I might have almost fit in partying with them, and I nearly considered it until I remembered that _he_ would be there.

He was always there when I needed him the least.

"Right then. I'll let you go. I'm sure the Golden Trio's absolutely disintegrating without you."

I rolled my eyes and picked my suitcase back up, snapping out of my introspective moment.

"See you around, Parkinson."

"Zabini?" she called after me. I turned back around. "I wouldn't worry about any rumours coming out of Slytherin. You know, about what you did. I … I'd have done it too."

I sucked in a breath.

"Thank you, Pan … Parkinson."

She nodded and stepped out, giving me the room I needed to disappear.

 


	25. Within Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I’m pleased to have another chapter for you all! I immensely appreciate your thoughts, as they definitely help me figure out where to take this story, or if I’m properly conveying what I’d like to. I hope you’ll all continue to leave them. And as always, thank you for the love!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Heidi? Oh my god!"

Hermione grabbed me by the arm and helped me up from the Burrow floor. My legs had become tangled in the wispy train of my dress robes, leading to a less than successful Floo-in.

"Have you been crying?" she asked, grabbing my suitcase from me in an effort to help.

"Long story," I muttered, just as Harry and Ron appeared in the doorway.

"Heidi!" said Ron, ushering me in. He clearly hadn't noticed my demeanour. "You're just in time; Dad's tipsy off a bottle of Armenian wine some bloke at the Ministry gave him. He's been trying to sing muggle Christmas songs for the past hour. Hang on, why do you look like you've been crying?"

"Long story," I repeated.

"What did Malfoy do this time?" asked Harry suspiciously.

_Kiss me on the mouth._

"Oh, you know," I muttered, trying to sound unperturbed. "A little of this, a little of that."

Ron poured me a glass of water.

"D'you want to go upstairs? I'll tell Mum you're here and then I'll come up with the rest of you," he suggested.

I nodded, and allowed Hermione and Harry to lead the way up a flight of crooked wooden stairs into what was presumably Percy's bedroom. The walls had been decorated with red and green holiday lights that seemed to get their glow from pixie dust inside the glass. It was so warm, so comfortable, that all the horrible things I had endured over the evening seemed to throw themselves from me in the form of tiny, quiet sobs.

Harry and Hermione exchanged concerned glances. Hermione reached out to pat my back. I stiffened involuntarily, the memory of Malfoy still fresh, and she dropped her hand.

"So what exactly happened?" asked Ron as he came in carrying a plate of biscuits. "Mum's sent these up for you by the way."

I declined the treats, leading Harry to adopt a look of panic.

"My parents were having … issues, and I became recently aware of them. I told my father to stop doing what he was doing, and ended up humiliating myself in the ballroom. Suffice to say, I can't go back there for a while," I explained. "There was some extremely loud, public screaming from my end. I wouldn't be surprised if you hear all about it at school."

"Well if we do hear about it, we'll give the no-good gossip a good punch on your behalf," said Ron happily, and Hermione to my surprise did not object to this.

"Thanks, Ron," I said with a smile.

"Were the Slytherins there when it happened?" asked Harry.

I nodded.

"Did they say anything?" he asked.

"Not really, shockingly enough. But I'm sure they're all talking about it now. Although…"

"Although?" nudged Hermione.

"Parkinson was weird tonight. I wouldn't be surprised if all those hair charms were behind it, but she sort of … extended a truce. Told me not to worry about rumours from the Slytherin end of things."

Every single one of them raised their eyebrows so high I was afraid they'd take off from their faces.

"I know," I said. "Bloody bizarre lately, the lot of them."

I rubbed my mouth absentmindedly, remembering the feel of him. What if he _hadn't_ pulled away? Would I even be here? Or would I be on my bed, quite content to be beside him … on him … under him…

No. It was stupid, what I was picturing. It was an illusion. What was missing was the real Malfoy: the Malfoy who called me a bitch, the Malfoy who pushed me and hexed me and mocked me.

Though it was precisely that Malfoy that I myself hadn't seen around for a while.

"I wonder why Parkinson did that," mused Hermione, bringing me back to reality.

"Probably because my actions somehow aligned with her corrupt moral standards. Which, by the way, is terrifying."

The three of them nodded in agreement. Just then, a loud bang sounded from downstairs, and Mrs. Weasley's voice shouted after Fred and George.

"Those'll be the indoor fireworks," muttered Ron with a grin. "They've improved them somewhat from last year. Wanna go see?"

I hesitated, and Hermione caught on to my reluctance.

"We'll be down in a bit, you two," she said. I nodded in agreement.

Harry and Ron shrugged and set off downstairs, leaving Hermione and I alone.

"I'm sorry about your parents," Hermione told me after a thick silence had cloaked the room. "They really shouldn't—"

"I got kissed."

"Oh! Well that's … was it nice?"

_Yes._

"No. It was stupid."

"Was it Pucey again?" asked Hermione, looking crestfallen on my behalf.

"No, it was …" I paused. "Not."

"Nott? Theodore Nott?"

I nodded.

"How did it happen?" she asked, flummoxed.

"I was upset about everything that happened in the ballroom, so he came upstairs and … anyway, he regretted it immediately after and now I don't know how I'll show my face at school anymore. He was really angry at himself for doing it. He'll probably say something."

Hermione frowned.

"So some boy helped himself to a kiss and now you have to be the one too embarrassed to go to school? That's rubbish. You didn't do anything wrong. Just because he gave in to something completely normal and hurt his pride doesn't mean it's your fault at all, and I dare him to come up to you and say it is, because I'll make sure to hex his mouth off!"

I hadn't seen her so fired up in a long time. It was Hermione Granger circa the S.P.E.W era all over again.

"You know he's probably just afraid of what Malfoy would say," she huffed, arms crossed. "Typical boys. Always too little too late."

"I don't think he's afraid of Malfoy," I muttered. "I think it was an accident, to be honest. I don't think he meant it to be me. It's just been too long since he snogged Pansy, so he got the urge out any way he could."

"Pansy?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, they broke up or something."

"Don't you mean Tracey?"

I felt the heat drain from my face.

"Er … same thing?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yeah, I get it. The whole house is always sort of dating each other, isn't it? How those Slytherins keep track of it is beyond me."

"No idea," I admitted, picking blue nail polish off my nails.

Hermione sighed in frustration.

"There's no way he did it by accident, Heidi, believe me. He likes you, the git. But it doesn't matter. He's behaved abhorrently and until he apologizes I implore you to have nothing to do with him."

I raised my eyebrow.

"Are you saying you support me having something to do with him as long as he apologizes? His dad's a Death Eater, Hermione."

She snorted.

"Good thing we didn't tell the boys then, or they'd be trying to track him down with a Beater bat for each kneecap. But I think it's more nuanced than that. I mean, his father's a Death Eater but I don't think I've ever heard him praise the ideology come to think of it. He's not stupid, either. He's in the Potions program with Katie Bell and she says he's been a great partner. And I guess you could say he's cute," she admitted with an unmistakeable blush.

"Really? _Nott?_ " I asked, forgetting momentarily that I was supposed to pretend I was attracted to him.

"If you're into the whole dark hair, sad smile thing," she clarified.

I nodded with what I could feel was a strained smile. Apparently I was more into the blond hair, rude smirk thing. The experts it would take to diagnose me … I couldn't even fathom.

"Anyway, I'll let you get to bed. You look absolutely exhausted, and you'll want to be up decently early tomorrow to open your presents."

"My presents?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Of course! It's Christmas. You don't think we'd leave you without any presents, do you?"

I shot my arms out and wrapped her in a hug that sounded like it squeezed the life out of her. I don't think I could have verbally communicated how much I loved her just then. How much I loved every single one of them, for making me feel at home at this most upsetting time.

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"Good morning, dear!" beamed Mrs. Weasley as I made my way down the stairs. "The kids are just in the garden playing some Quidditch, waiting for the girls to wake up. Are you hungry?"

I nodded, feeling shy as she led me over to the table.

"Coffee or pumpkin juice, dear?"

"Pumpkin juice, please," I said. She sent a glass over, and a heaping plate of eggs, sausage and toast along with it.

"I'm glad you were able to make it out to us," she said as she took a seat across from me. "It's been a while since the last time."

She was giving me an unmistakably sympathetic smile and I wondered briefly if my ballroom adventures had somehow made it into a gossip magazine.

"I'm glad to be here," I said.

"Ron and Ginny speak very highly of you. Especially with what happened last year at the Ministry." She pushed some ketchup towards me. "Nymphadora praises you every chance she gets, of course. It was a big thing you did. You're too young to understand it, perhaps, but it was a very big thing."

I could feel my face get hot.

"Everybody did a big thing that night, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled.

"Of course, dear. But for some, the decision was perhaps a bit more intuitive. Say, have you met Andromeda Tonks yet?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, you'd love her. You have a lot in common, I think. Next time we have her over I'll make sure Ronald asks you too."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," I said, feeling a bit more at ease as I chewed my toast.

"Of course, dear," she said, patting my hand warmly, before getting up to tend to a pile of dishes. Just then, Hermione and Ginny emerged into the kitchen.

"How was your sleep, Heidi?" asked Ginny as she poured herself juice. "Fred and George were setting off those fireworks all night long. I could have killed them."

"I slept through it," I admitted. "I must have been really tired."

"Well I hope you're better rested now because I'm planning on pummelling those two at Quidditch in about ten minutes and I'll need your help," she said darkly. I grinned.

"After everybody opens presents, I hope," said Mrs. Weasley as she pecked a rushed Mr. Weasley on the cheek.

"Molly, I'm so sorry but I'm needed at work," he said.

"Work? Arthur, it's Christmas! Surely it can wait!"

He shook his head. "A tip came through about Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov's whereabouts. I've got to go in."

I froze, growing vaguely aware that bits of scrambled egg were sliding off my fork. Lucius Malfoy's whereabouts? Lucius Malfoy didn't have whereabouts — Lucius Malfoy was basically dead.

"What does that have to do with counterfeit objects, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "Can't the Aurors handle it?"

"Molly, come on. We're working double time to keep this out of the papers, but that doesn't mean the threat isn't there. If anything, we need to catch them faster."

"Er … excuse me, Mr. Weasley, but Lucius Malfoy got the Kiss a month and a half ago."

Mr. Weasley turned to me in shock.

"What ever makes you say that?"

I swallowed nervously.

"Well, I … I was there."

All heads turned to me, eyes wide.

"I went with Malfoy to visit him. Dumbledore allowed it," I added, hoping that his permission made any of this less controversial.

"You _what?_ " asked Hermione, face so blanched that her faint littering of freckles stood out double the usual amount.

"You couldn't have seen him get the Kiss, Heidi," Mr. Weasley said, finally seeming to regain his composure. "Lucius Malfoy has been at large for at least that long."

"No, I was there," I said in a panic. "I spoke to him and everything!"

"But did you actually _see_ it happen?" he asked.

My heart was pounding frantically as I tried to remember everything I could about that day.

"No," I concluded weakly. "I — I blacked out some time after we spoke. I don't remember leaving."

"Clever bastard," said Mr. Weasley. "Tried to establish an alibi. And through a teenage girl, no less!"

I shook my head desperately.

"That doesn't make sense. Malfoy told me _not_ to tell. Wouldn't he have wanted me to if his father was trying to establish an alibi?"

"I don't know," admitted Mr. Weasley. "I never know with that family."

"Alright then, Arthur. The sooner you go the sooner you'll be back."

Seemingly determined to save the festivities, Mrs. Weasley ushered the three of us that remained to the Christmas tree. I caught Hermione's eye and mouthed 'later', making her relax somewhat. Just then, Ron, Harry and the twins came through the door, covered in snow. They dropped their brooms by the door and joined us.

"Ron and Harry ought to know about this," Hermione muttered as she grabbed a present from under the tree and passed it to me. I couldn't argue with that, no matter how much Malfoy would have wanted me to. I nodded as I opened the Healer-themed stationary set she'd bought me and promised we would all go upstairs when the moment was right.

One winter scarf, twelve boxes of sweets and a pair of Quidditch gloves later, my mood was considerably lighter, along with everybody else's. I had almost forgotten that anything existed outside of this warmth-filled house.

"Heidi this is gorgeous!" exclaimed Hermione as she opened the box holding the charm bracelet I'd gotten her. "Just wait until you see what the boys got you!"

As if on cue, Harry and Ron approached me with a badly-wrapped, broom-shaped object. I looked at them with a raised eyebrow, suspecting yet another ploy to replace my old, broken broom, whose twin I would be ordering once Auntie Coraline's Christmas money came through.

"We gave it some thought," said Harry. "The thing is, Heidi, we realized we could probably put you on a twig and you'd make it work. So we hope you like this particular twig."

My jaw dropped as I ripped the packaging open.

"You got me another Cleansweep!"

Ron laughed.

"Better, mate: we got yours fixed! Turns out it looked worse than it was after the match against the Slytherins. Just a clean break, was all. Bloke at the shop said it took him three minutes to repair."

"You _guys!_ " I squealed as I engulfed them both in a hug.

"I think someone's at the door," said George as he wrapped green and red tinsel around his shoulders.

"I'll get it," Mrs. Weasley said. "It's probably Tonks and Remus with the Yule log for tonight."

After what seemed like only a second, she appeared back in the room and called me over.

"It's for you, Heidi, dear."

Standing at the door, dressed in a burgundy fur cloak and jewel-encrusted cloche hat, was my snow-covered mother.

"Mum!" I exclaimed at the unseemly vision before me.

"Could we talk?"

I nodded mutely, before leading her inside.

"So this is The Burrow," she mumbled, smiling thinly at everybody in the living room. She followed me up the stairs to Percy's room, nearly bumping her head off the ceiling.

"How did you know I'd be here?" I asked, knowing that I hadn't actually told her where I was running away since it would defeat the purpose.

"Draco told me."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Of course _Draco_ told her.

"You have humiliated me quite effectively this time around. If the entire community didn't have its nose in my marriage, they certainly do after the lecture you read out to that disgusting woman at our party. You acted completely inappropriately, you have embarrassed both myself and your father, and …"

I realized with horror that her eyes were welling with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mum," I said as she wiped her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "I'm so, so—"

"I love you so much, my darling girl. You are always so fiercely on my side. Sometimes I don't know what I've done as a mother to deserve it."

"Mum, come on…"

"I know I frustrate you, darling. And I don't always understand you. Maybe when you have children of your own you will relate to this a little better." She paused to dab at her running mascara. "Please come home. I can't bear the holidays without you."

I hesitated.

"I don't think that's the best idea. If she's there at the New Year's ball I might just claw into her," I said with a half-smile.

My mother gave a wet laugh.

"There won't be one this year. I'd like to keep it smaller; just you, Blaise and Draco."

My throat went dry.

"Hang on, what about Dad?"

She shook her head slightly.

"He's at your Nonna's for a little while. We agreed that was for the best." My mother grabbed my hands. "Please say you'll come home tonight."

"I — I'll go talk to everyone downstairs," I said, helplessly moved by her uncharacteristic begging.

"I'll pack up your things."

I came back downstairs to a notably quieter room. Everybody was looking on in curiosity to see what was going on.

"I … I might need to go home. I wasn't expecting—"

Mrs. Weasley nodded voraciously.

"Of course you must, dear! Your mother's come all this way. She must have walked all the way over Stoatshead Hill by the looks of her."

"Wait, Heidi, shouldn't we have that talk?" said Hermione, tilting her head slightly at Harry and Ron.

I shook my head apologetically.

"Later."

It was always later.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

It didn't take Malfoy long after everybody else had gone to bed to appear in my doorway. Good. I was feeling particularly tetchy that night and wanted nothing more than to unleash. The upside of this was that the anxiety of facing the boy who kissed me had been eliminated. This wasn't the boy who kissed me — this was the Death Eater who lied.

"Your father's alive and well. Don't know if you knew that," I said coldly as I unpacked various fuzzy jumpers and put them back in my wardrobe.

He took a deep breath.

"I did."

I mustered all the goodwill on the planet to prevent myself from punching him square in the jaw at that moment.

"Of course you did," I said spitefully. "I probably don't actually _want_ to know the answer to this, but am I an accomplice to something?"

"We didn't break him out of Azkaban if that's what you're thinking, Zabini."

"Oh, well that would be insane, right? And Merlin knows we haven't engaged in any insanity this year, so I'm sure we're in the clear," I retorted.

"Zabini…"

"I know you used me. I know I was there just to establish an alibi," I said, secretly unsure of that very fact until he looked away uncomfortably. "Except for the fact that you told me _not_ to tell. So either you're really stupid, or you're five steps ahead of me in some bizarre mind game again."

"I am extremely stupid," he lied.

Something in me snapped. I grabbed the nearest object — which happened to be the holiday edition of Witch Weekly — and smacked him with it.

"Why would you make me keep a secret like that! It was literally making me sick, you foul git! If you wanted it out anyway then why would you … hang on … no, you're not that devious…"

"Zabini, let's be honest: there's only one way to get you screaming something from the rooftops, and it's by telling you to keep it to yourself."

I narrowed my eyes, dropping the magazine.

"Looks like you were wrong about me then, Malfoy _,_ because I didn't tell a soul what I saw until yesterday."

His face softened somewhat, and I almost felt sorry for the red welt that was rapidly spreading across part of it.

"I know you didn't. I'm a little touched, I have to admit," he said.

"Yeah, well don't get too touched because I might still kill you!"

No longer able to bring myself to attack him, I took to pulling on my own hair in frustration. "I spent _so much_ _time_ worrying about you! Wondering how you were getting on! Wondering if you were grieving! And you were fucking with me all this time! My god, I could _strangle_ you!"

He took a step towards me and, before I could react, took both of my hands and brought them around his neck, holding them firmly in place.

"Please do."

"Malfoy don't be stupid," I snapped. I could feel his quickened pulse underneath my palms. He was within reach again. I already knew the taste of him … would it really be so earth-shattering if I leaned in for a little more?

The image of Hermione, indignant on my behalf, flashed across my face. I threw his hands off me, and with them went the butterflies.

"When I said that I would help you and that I was there for you, you realize that that hinged on you being honest with me, right? I mean you aren't _that_ oblivious, correct?"

Malfoy looked down at me and licked his lips impatiently.

"I need my father, Zabini. I can't do this alone."

"You're not alone, you bloody idiot! When will you realize? But to support the release of a murderer—"

"Don't," he warned lowly, "refer to my father—"

"I will refer to anybody that tries to murder me as a murderer!"

"Then you better lose the use of my surname and start calling me one instead!" Malfoy snarled.

"You? No, you're just a liar."

"I NEEDED MY FUCKING FAMILY BACK—"

"Liar."

"How dare—"

"Dirty liar," I said with what I hoped was a patronizing smile.

"You want honesty from me, Zabini? That's what you want?"

"Yes."

"At all costs?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Fine. I'll never lie to you again."

I snorted.

"Dirty, filthy liar."

Malfoy smiled wickedly, knowing as well as I did that I was about to get what I bargained for. He put a hand over his heart.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Zabini, I'll tell the truth about anything you want to know. Ask away. Anything."

I faltered for a minute, before the words came out of my mouth all at once.

"Why did you kiss me?"

 


	26. Icing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy weekend everybody! Hope yours is less snow-covered than mine haha. I’ve another chapter for you all. As always, much love for the kudos left as of my previous update! I’m always open to your thoughts, so feel free to leave them.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

 

 

 

 

"I already told you why I did it, Zabini."

I rolled my eyes.

"Right. Well if you could abstain from feeling me up in the future because you think I'm being a little too funny, or a little too weepy, that'd be really wonderful."

Malfoy let out a great, frustrated breath as I strode across the room.

"You should have heard yourself hyperventilating that night. I didn't know how to shut you up!"

I wheeled around.

"It's not your job to shut me up, Malfoy! Have you ever considered that? Have you ever considered that you are the _last_ person on this planet whose job it is to shut me up?"

"And why is that?"

I paused.

"Because you are in no position to look down on me. Especially now."

"Oh, would you get a grip! I don't look down on you."

"So what are you saying? You look up to me? Don't be daft," I scoffed.

"I don't look at you any way that you wouldn't want me to, Zabini," he said.

"There it is again! You're so pretentious! What makes you think you know anything about how I want you to look at me?"

He furrowed his brows, and I could see, for a moment, a look of deep confusion on his face.

"Well … how do you?"

"What?"

"How do you want me to look at you?"

"I—"

I faltered.

"Zabini, is there something—"

"With respect!" I managed to say. "I just want you to look at me with respect, that's all."

"I do look at you with respect. Begrudgingly sometimes, I must admit, but I can't help that part."

"Is that what you call kissing me to shut me up? Respect? God, Malfoy, you just have to help yourself to everything, don't you!" I huffed.

"What?"

"That was my _first kiss_. I know it doesn't mean much, especially to you, but I was still saving it for the right person! I think I had the right to, don't you? And then you come along, with a desperate need to shut me up as always, and now I've wasted it on somebody who doesn't even care."

"Hang on, _that_ was your first kiss? Ever?" he asked incredulously.

"You knew that. I told you that! When you pulled away and I panicked because I thought—"

"Jesus Christ, Zabini, you're sixteen years old! I thought you were kidding all those times you alluded to it being your first! What the fuck have you been doing until now?"

My jaw dropped open at the gall.

"Oh, let's see shall we?" I began counting on my fingers. "Thinking I'm abnormally ugly because of _you_ , getting ostracized by a bunch of guys because of _you_ , then Adrian Pucey came along but … oh yeah, that one fell apart because of you… and now I said no to Anthony because of you. So I guess you can say I've been down on my romantic luck, yeah?"

"You said no to Goldstein because of me?"

I immediately regretted my words.

"It's not why you think," I said, terrified he'd come to some sort of unwarranted conclusion. "It's complicated."

"How complicated?" he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Look, forget it. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I realize now that you probably just got a little bit confused that evening, and that you'd really intended for me to be somebody else. Well they're all coming here for New Years; all the possible suspects. So you can take your pick then."

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy demanded.

"Blaise'll be inviting Pansy, Daphne _and_ Tracey over, among others I'm sure. I quite frankly don't even know which one you're dipping into right now, if not all three of them, but—"

"I don't know if you're doing this because you're over-exhausted or just extremely under-touched, but I'm starting to get really irritated with the things you're implying about me."

"Am I wrong?" I scoffed — fully aware, of course, that I had been. I knew Pansy and him were no longer, and although I wasn't fully certain about the other two, something in me knew he wasn't leaving much time for dating these days. And yet I was still determined to lash out and diminish him.

"Zabini, if I had to rely on getting my galleons exclusively from you being right, I'd be living down the road from Weasley."

"That'd be an upgrade from your current situation, wouldn't you say? Seeing as you're just about homeless now?"

I had hurt him. I knew I had. And it was mostly inexcusable, but there was a tiny, irrational justification in my brain that had stemmed from his lies about his father and his ignition of my vulnerability with his lips.

"You know what? I came in here to talk civilly. But now I just want to extend a massive fuck you, so I think that's what I'll do: fuck you, Zabini."

"I think you mean 'I'm sorry for lying about my father, Zabini.'"

He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not sorry about a damn thing when it comes to my family. And I'm not going to stand here and justify my actions to somebody like you."

"Then you better leave, Malfoy, because if you stay in this room for one more second, I swear I'll—"

He didn't need to be told twice. The slam of the door, expected as it was, didn't fail to make me jump. I groaned in frustration; I had dug myself into a hole with him again.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

The time I spent trying to ignore my brother and Malfoy's vitriolic sneers over the next few days was rivalled only by the time I spent surreptitiously following my mother around in an attempt to ensure her wellbeing.

"Your brother isn't angry with you, Heidi, he's angry with your father," she explained as we stood in the sunroom, arranging bouquets for 'good energy'. It was the only way I could get her out of bed.

"Is that why he called me a jumped up bitch in the hallway?" I asked as I passed her some flower shears.

"What can I say? He's got more than a small dose of Robert in him. Watch it, darling, you're cutting into the petals."

I forced a smile and put down the begonias I was maiming.

"Lucky him, then. Maybe if I had a bit of Dad in me the two of them wouldn't despise me so much."

"Heidi! Your father doesn't despise you; he shamed himself in front of you. He doesn't know how to handle it. He wants very much for you to think highly of him."

"Then maybe he shouldn't have been getting it on with that glorified bank teller."

My mother flinched, and I regretted what I said immediately.

"I'm sorry, Mum."

"It's alright. You're not wrong. Though perhaps you could be less crass about it; I've really no idea where you get it from."

I sighed.

"I ask myself that every day, honestly." A dreadful thought struck me. "Mum … is there any possibility that I'm adopted?"

Her startled laugh reverberated through the sunroom.

"I'm afraid not, darling. You were completely our doing, from toes to eyelashes. I'm sorry if that disappoints you," she said with a wry smile.

"I'm not disappointed," I reassured her.

"Good. We'd rather like to keep you around. I was worried sick when you left that evening, and when I realized Robert didn't even know where you had gone … I can't describe it. It was a good thing Draco was there."

"Was it?" I asked, trying my best not to sound resentful.

"Oh yes, he seemed quite concerned for you."

"That doesn't sound implausible at all," I muttered under my breath as I went back to looping some ribbon around my crooked bouquet.

"Say what you will, darling, but he came to find me right away to tell me you were safe. I wouldn't have slept otherwise. You know, I've been meaning to ask… are you two getting on better now?"

I thought about the last thing he'd said to me, which, had my mother heard it come out of my mouth, would have been cause for grounding.

"No."

Later that day, however, Draco Malfoy was the last thing on my mind. I was instead frantically screaming for Blaise, having found my mother lying motionlessly on the piano room floor. He rushed into the room, Malfoy on his tail.

"I found her like this! I have no idea how — we need to send for someone!"

"What did you do?" snarled Blaise as he helped lift her onto the chaise longue.

"I didn't! I don't know—"

"She's just fainted," said Malfoy, who had been watching the scene unfold without intervening. "You don't need to send for anyone. Just get her some water."

"Right, because you would know, having attended class virtually never," I snapped. "Blaise, we need to get a Healer to—"

"I didn't learn that in class, Zabini," he said. "I learned it through peeling my mother off the floor nearly daily this past summer."

I froze, teeming with guilt.

"I just meant…"

"But carry on. You're the expert Healer among us, right? Rivalled only by your talent for meddling in marriages."

Blaise shot me another glare at Malfoy's words, and the disdain emanating from both of them made me shrink into myself.

"I'll go get some water," I muttered.

"Stellar idea."

My mother came to not two minutes later, as Malfoy had promised she would. As I tucked blankets around her, amidst her protests that she was fine, I realized very clearly that she was anything but.

The few days that followed had drained me more and more, and by the time December 31st had made its appearance on the calendar, I felt like I'd already lived out the entire new year.

"Get out."

I looked up from the book I had only just cracked open, having exhausted the majority of the evening listening to my mother cry about my father's inopportune bachelorhood. Five expectant Slytherins were staring from the doorway at my curled up form, all looking significantly more posh than I did in my static-generating jumper and leggings.

"I live here … you all _do_ know that, right?"

Blaise looked at me contemptuously.

"Go read upstairs. We're using this room."

"For nothing but the most intellectual pursuits, by the looks of it?" I said, nodding at the clinking brown paper bag in Tracey Davis' hand.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"It's fine, you two," said Pansy, her own alcohol unhidden. "I suppose Zabini over here just wants to stay for the party."

"No, I'm seriously just here to read the sequel to my favourite courtroom erotica," I said, pointing to the book in question and eliciting an amused snort from Theodore Nott.

"Suit yourself," said Pansy as she settled into an armchair beside mine and began uncorking a bottle of wine. "Is Draco coming?" she asked my brother, who led the rest of them reluctantly into the room.

"Dunno. He was cooped up in our library last I saw him."

"He's been acting so strange lately," remarked Daphne as she tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. I couldn't help but scowl at her prettiness over the pages of my book, stopping only when she shot me a strange look. "Are we really going to do this here?" I heard her whisper to Pansy.

"Hey, she lives here too, right?" Pansy replied with a smirk to rival Malfoy's. "Theo, where are the glasses you brought?"

"We've got some at the house," offered Blaise.

"Excuse me, you are not using our mother's good, vintage crystalware for crime," I interjected.

"Well I can certainly see why we've opted to have her here," snapped Tracey.

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"It's New Years, Zabini. Loosen up." She counted all the heads in the room. "Get six, will you?" she asked Blaise who nodded and disappeared.

I sighed and went back to my novel, peripherally aware that a large portion of the room was looking at me with trepidation.

"Well don't party _too_ hard," I said sarcastically, without ripping my eyes from the pages.

Nott let out a quiet laugh.

"What's so funny?" Daphne asked.

"I don't know. Having her here, I guess?" he said with a shrug.

"I don't find it funny at all. We can't talk about anything," complained Tracey.

"Gossip rots the soul," I said in my most irritating, holier-than-thou voice. "Though I think you actually have to have one for that to work…"

"Oh damn," snickered Nott. "Blaise, I don't think your sister's in the mood to play nicely today," he told my brother, who had returned to the room.

"Yeah, what else is new," said Blaise resentfully as he set six wine glasses down on our marble side table. "Pour it, Pans."

"Seriously, where's Draco?" asked Daphne, fiddling anxiously with her skirt.

"Is he your siamese twin or something? Do we have to take you to St. Mungo's to separate you?"

"It just feels wrong doing this without him," she snapped at me. "He's our friend."

I was none too happy with my jealous outburst either, and attempted to curb the tendency by becoming more engrossed in my novel **.** By the time they had begun discussing the swathes of girls that were planning to ask Malfoy out for Valentine's Day, however, I was more inclined to use the hardcover to smash myself in the face.

"I heard Nicole Hurst's going to make her move."

"Good luck to her, then. He's not into short girls," announced Daphne proudly. "Romilda Vane's thinking about it, too."

"She's a _Gryffindor_."

"And a virgin," added Tracey.

I reviewed the checklist in my head. Ah, three for three, was it? Wonderful.

"You alright, Heidi?"

"Er … yeah," I said, trying not to appear too surprised at the sound of my first name coming from Nott's mouth. "I'm just very bored."

"Yeah, no shit. Can we cut the discussion of Malfoy's incoming sexual escapades? You're losing literally half your audience and the poor bloke's not even here to defend his lecherous ways."

Pansy craned her neck in my direction.

"You didn't pour your sister a drink?" she asked Blaise.

"Oh, I'd rather not get poisoned, thanks," I replied sweetly, waving away her offer.

She snorted.

"I don't like what you're getting at; I've been nothing but nice to you."

"For what probably amounts to an hour," I pointed out.

"Well I've only liked you for an hour, you see."

"Yeah. What brought on this concussion, by the way?" I asked, ignoring the glass of wine Nott was attempting to hand me.

Pansy shrugged, a coy smile on her lips.

"What can I say, Zabini? You've got some impressive balls when you aren't busy having your head up your arse."

"And I hate to disappoint you in your eternal search for those, but I think you've got the wrong twin," I said mock-innocently, pointing to my brother.

"Don't reward her for what she did, Pansy," snapped Blaise.

"Well let me ask you this, Blaise my darling, who _don't_ you see wandering the halls of your house anymore this holiday season?"

" _My father._ "

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"He'd have left anyway. But that woman was going to stay for as long as she was welcome, believe me."

I was beginning to wonder if Parkinson was speaking from personal experience, and would have asked her had Daphne not emitted another loud huff.

"That's it, I'm looking for him. Where's your library again?"

"Third floor, three doors to the right," Blaise said.

"Oh come on, we don't really need to bring _him_ down, do we?" complained Nott. "He's turned into a complete nutter."

"He's our friend!" argued Daphne and Tracey in unison.

"Maybe yours," he mumbled darkly.

I sighed and closed my novel for the definitive time.

"I'll do it. I'm going there anyway to get a better book; I can hear you over this one, you see."

I found Malfoy a few minutes later, bent over a pile of volumes and flipping furiously through two of them at once.

"You're going to clean this up, I'm assuming?" I said to him. He slammed both books shut and wheeled around in his chair.

"Zabini, I swear to Salazar—"

"Some light reading you've got there," I remarked, earning myself a few dirty words. "Why are you reading about Apparition, anyway? Scared you'll fail the practical?"

"What are you up here for?" he snapped.

"The usual library business, shockingly enough," I said, holding up my book. "I'm also supposed to get you downstairs so I won't have to bring in the New Year listening to Greengrass lament about how good you are with your mouth. She's overplaying it a little if you ask me."

"Think so?"

"Yeah, but I'm also not huge on the whole kiss and run thing — call me old fashioned."

"Well, Zabini, the difference is," he muttered as he leaned in towards me, "I never got the urge to run when it came to her."

He didn't give me time to respond — not that I could have. The pain in my chest that his comment had ignited was blocking my brain's overtime efforts to come up with a clever retort. I was beginning to long for the times he hexed me, if it only meant less moments like this.

The second Malfoy left, I collapsed in the chair he'd been using and pinched my hand to try and shock myself out of crying. I still had to put on a brave face and check on my mother.

I tried to be quiet as I peeked into her room. She was buried under blankets, the surrounding area littered with balled-up tissues. Her forehead was hot and her sleep appeared restless, despite the Dreamless Sleep potion she'd taken earlier. Taking care not to wake her, I dabbed at her forehead with a cold compress I'd asked Roley to prepare.

"I'll be back in a bit," I whispered as I adjusted her blankets.

Back downstairs, the guest list had mysteriously expanded to include a bunch of Slytherins in years other than ours, and some that had evidently graduated. I narrowly dodged Flint, who tried to scoop me in by the waist before realizing who I was.

"Blaise, what is this!" I said, gesturing to the crowd. There had to be at least forty of them.

"What?" he slurred.

"Why are all these people here!"

"They're here because I invited them, loser. See I invited them, and then they invited each other, and now we're — Evans don't do that!" he bellowed as a surly looking kid made a wreath of flames come out of his wand.

I gripped at my hair as I did a three-sixty around the room. It was still manageable, but only barely: my brother was five levels of drunk, the Ministry was probably going to blow the door down for underage magic within the hour, and the only possible voice of reason I could think of was nowhere to be seen.

And then I saw him. He was talking to Urquhart with his arm draped casually around Greengrass' waist — and, true to his words, he was not running.

"Need something?"

It was Pansy.

"Yeah, for all of you to get out!" I snapped.

"Oh, don't be a killjoy. No one's done anything _too_ illegal," she said.

I let out a frustrated groan.

"I can't believe he's gone and done this! He knows our mother is sick upstairs!"

Pansy put a hand on my shoulder, and I instinctually knocked it away, fearing an assault.

"Merlin, you _are_ a lunatic," she said as I mumbled an apology. "I was only trying to explain that you ought to stay downstairs and have some fun tonight. Your mother doesn't want you moping by her bed on New Years, believe me. It'll only make her feel like even more of a failure. Do you really want to spend four hours trying to convince her that your allowing men to objectify you isn't rooted in the insecurities she's passed on due to her own failed marriages?"

"Er … no?" I said unsurely. "Although that's oddly specific, I've got to say…"

Pansy waved away my attempts at digging for backstory.

"Either way, there are therapists for that, Zabini; and a therapist you are not."

I sighed.

"Look, even if I didn't have an unwell mother upstairs, I can say with complete honesty that there isn't a soul at this party that I actually want to talk to. No offence."

Pansy giggled.

"Who said anything about talking? I think Pucey might be here if you wanted to try that out again," she said, wagging her eyebrows.

"Hard pass."

Pansy nodded, scanning the room.

"Alright, alright. Urquhart?"

"Ah, an intellectual," I said sarcastically as I watched him open a bottle of Butterbeer with his eye socket.

"My god, you're picky," she complained as she led me over to the drink table in spite of my protests. I settled on some Butterbeer and set about trying to uncap it with my teeth.

"I guess I should let you in on a little secret," she said as I took a sip of my drink. "I'm partially being nice to you because I think your brother's an absolute delicacy."

I swallowed quickly before the beverage had a chance to shoot down my lungs.

"That's disgusting, first of all," I said. "And secondly, your tactic's a bit off; I think you're supposed to be subtle about fishing for information, you see."

"Maybe. But I'm thinking the Gryffindor in you much prefers blunt honesty."

I snorted, but held back the urge to ask her if she even knew what the word honesty meant.

"Alright, what do you want to know?" I conceded. "Be warned, he probably talks to you more in a week than he's done with me my whole life."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit, Zabini," she said, pausing to give Flint the finger as he tried to approach us. I happily joined in.

"Oh yeah, how's that?" I asked once Flint had gone.

"You have more sway than you think; enough that I actually have to go through the inconvenience of patching up our terms before trying to get serious with your brother."

I shot her my most unappreciative look. She shrugged innocently.

"I'm new at the honesty thing."

"What're you two laughin' bout over here," slurred my brother as he refilled his shot glass. "She bothering you?" he asked, obviously intending the respondent to be Pansy.

"Oh yeah — yeah she's bothering me loads. Do not under any circumstances spend any more time with this person than necessary. In fact, I forbid it," I said, grinning, to Blaise's clear confusion. Pansy shot me a glare. "I'm kidding!"

My eyes wandered to a corner, where Daphne and Malfoy were now standing alone. I felt the smile slide off my face, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't reinstate it.

"Getting awfully cozy, aren't they?" Pansy commented, having followed my line of vision. "Ah well, I suppose he needs it. He's been a little 'volatile' lately."

I feigned apathy as best as I could, and sipped my Butterbeer while looking around the room. The pit in my stomach didn't go away nearly as quickly as the falsified nonchalance, however, and before I could filter, I turned to Pansy.

"Why did Malfoy break up with you?" I asked.

She appeared caught off-guard by the question.

"He didn't. I broke up with him."

"Why?"

"Because we had some slight trouble loving the other more than we loved ourselves," she replied. "That's how it felt, at least."

"Cool," I said awkwardly.

She cast me a funny look. "Not really."

"I basically just don't know how to answer something like that," I admitted.

"You don't have to ans— oh shit, here comes Warrington. Pretend we're talking about something really deep," she gasped as she ducked into me.

Luckily, Warrington swerved around us and went to talk to Tracey instead.

"He's a real prat," she explained as she resurfaced. Her face lit up. "Say, you know which Slytherin isn't?"

"No," I said honestly.

"Terence Higgs. He's insanely boring, so you'd _definitely_ like him. He's just over there." She pointed to a spot near where Malfoy and Daphne were standing.

"Oh, no, I—"

But she was already dragging me after her through the crowd.

"Hi, Terence," she said sweetly. I saw Malfoy momentarily stop whispering into Daphne's ear and look over at me.

"Hey, Pansy. Happy New Year," said Terence.

"Not for another twenty minutes," I pointed out lamely, anxious to contribute something to the discussion so that Malfoy didn't think I was lingering just to be around him.

"Right, er…"

"Heidi. Heidi Zabini," I said.

"No shit! You're one of the Gryffindor beaters, right?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Correct."

"Adrian told me how good you are. Said you were Blaise's sister. I didn't believe him, though."

I took an awkward sip of my drink.

"Believe it."

"Mind you the team went to shit after they replaced me as Seeker," Terence said. I couldn't help but grin, knowing that Malfoy was listening behind us.

"Oh yeah, it was a complete downgrade. Don't think he's ever won a game," I lied.

I became vaguely aware that Pansy had slipped away, but before I had a chance to panic, Terence eased me into more Quidditch talk. I had barely noticed the clock strike midnight until a cheer erupted around us.

"Happy New Year!" he said, clinking his bottle to mine. I smiled, and accidentally caught Malfoy's eye. Against my better judgement, I mouthed _Happy New Year_ at him, but he turned away before I could finish. Trying not to show my hurt, I went back to my conversation with Terence and spent the rest of the night debating various Quidditch techniques.

"So," Pansy asked me a few hours later as she helped me fold up the cloth that had been placed over the drink table. The room had been emptied of everyone besides the pair of us and Blaise, who was groaning drunkenly into a bucket. "Meet anybody worth talking to again?"

I laughed.

"No, you're all nutters. It has convinced me to do one thing, though."

"And what would that be, Zabini?"

"Try for some normalcy."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

The next time I found myself sharing a table with Malfoy, I had the good sense to get up and walk to the other side of the room.

"Hi."

Anthony looked up at me in mild confusion. I fought through the nerves until I had successfully convinced myself that I didn't care that the class was watching, or that Snape had just walked into the classroom. He had gone through more for me.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out on a date with me? Perhaps sometime this week?"

He nodded slowly, as if the moment wasn't being fully absorbed by his mind.

"Good. We'll go through the details later then," I said, as some of the class began hooting cheerfully at us.

Exhilarated, I returned to my seat. Malfoy's facial expression — a mixture of disgust and betrayal — was just icing on the cake.

 


	27. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got a bit of a break from school so I’m able to bring another chapter your way! Thanks very much for the love.  
> ~ Anna =)

 

"Eight."

"I'm sorry, what?"

It had been the first time Malfoy had spoken to me in a week.

"You heard me. We're meeting at eight."

"I don't remember ever promising this," I said, arms crossed as we stood in the musty dungeon hallway.

"We're doing revision, Zabini; I hardly think I need to request an appointment with your secretary."

I rolled my eyes.

"I can't tonight, Malfoy. I've got plans."

"Yes, I'm more than aware of the fact that you've committed to boring the shit out of Goldstein in the library. By the way, if he comes up to our desk one more time—"

"We're not going to the library, we're meeting _by_ the library," I said defensively. "It's a date, Malfoy, not a book club."

If I was to be honest, that was about all I knew of our evening plans, and the ambiguity in them led to an extended debate with Hermione about my attire. Unfortunately, this had turned out to be the blind leading the blind.

"Cancel it, then."

I could feel my eyebrows shoot up.

"Give me one even _somewhat_ lucid reason why I would do something like that."

"Because I need your fucking help, Zabini, and you said you'd help!" he said, sounding more perturbed than I expected he would at my unwillingness to devote time to him.

"But I never!" I spluttered, having truly no idea where he was getting any of this from. "How could I have promised you anything if you've been ignoring me for days?" I hoisted my bag further up my shoulder, preparing to leave. "Look, if you're having trouble understanding something, just talk to Blaise."

"Is your brother my partner or are you?" he said cuttingly.

"Well with the way you've rushed to cut me out of everything, I'm not sure you have a partner, Malfoy."

"I will not ask you again, Zab—"

"Look, Blaise can help you with homework, and I'm more than certain Daphne's game to help you with everything else. As for me, I have to go."

I didn't wait for him to reason his way out of the situation, and instead made my way to the library, where I found Anthony already waiting for me by the doors.

"Hi."

"Hi," I said, looking him up and down with dread. He had dressed up for me. He smelled wonderful. His dark curls had been neatly arranged. I was wearing a jumper with a cat on it that left everything to the imagination and more. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Hermione.

"You look really good," I admitted. "I'm sorry, I—"

"You look really good, too," he said, and although there was no reasonable way this could be true, I let his earnest, brown-eyed gaze convince me otherwise.

"Thank you."

"Shall we go then?" he asked, extending his hand. I took solace in the fact that it was just as clammy as mine. "We could go for a walk around the castle if you like."

I nodded.

"I just wanted to thank you," he said as we strolled through the stone hallways of the school. "I know you didn't want to do this at first, and I can't blame you. I'm such a stuffy idiot sometimes, I know I am. But thank you for giving me a chance."

"Anthony! Please don't say that about yourself."

He fixed me a pointed look.

"Heidi, come on. You ran away from me at least twice. I'm many things, but I don't think I'd last very well in Ravenclaw if I were dumb."

"What are the chances that you'll believe me if I tell you my running away had nothing to do with you?" I asked sheepishly.

"Slim, I'm afraid," he said with a sad smile.

I sighed, supposing I'd just have to show him.

I noticed after some time that I had been led to a corner of the castle that I'd never been in before.

"Where are we?" I asked, finding myself in a long hallway of statues.

"Not too far from the Ravenclaw common room."

"You're not a very conventional group, are you?" I remarked as we passed a statue of a grindylow donning a top-hat. "Not that I'm one to talk, I suppose."

Anthony laughed and pushed aside a bright blue tapestry, which was hiding a small wooden door. We stepped into the room — a tiny little nook with three small desks and cozy blue chairs.

"Well I see why you're all so good in school," I said. "This floor is basically exclusively study spaces."

"There's no shortage, that's for certain. Look up there," he said, pointing to a wall behind me. I squinted at a plaque under an empty portrait.

"Is this Mungo Bonham?" I exclaimed.

Anthony nodded. "I guess he's in his other frame at the hospital just now. That's a shame, I was really looking forward to showing you."

"I can't believe I didn't know this was here!"

"I don't think many people do; I only found it last year. He's brilliant to have a chat with, though. Great for some homework help too. Do you want to sit down, or keep walking?"

"Let's sit," I said eagerly, partially hoping to get a glimpse of my favourite Healer.

"I figured you'd like it in here. I only wish I'd brought some snacks along."

"Say no more," I said, before excavating at least seven packets of sweets from the depths of my bag. "Mint, vanilla or strawberry?"

"Vanilla," he said. I handed him a Cauldron Cake.

"So have you got any siblings?" I asked him as I tore off the packaging from my own.

"Two. An older brother and a younger sister. She'll be starting Hogwarts next year," he replied.

"And your brother?"

"He's graduated already. He was a Hufflepuff. My sister's hoping for the same; neither of them really appreciate Ravenclaw, no matter how much Dad and I insist that it's the only worthwhile place to be."

"Is your brother into Healing as well? Or did your Mum put her foot down with him?" I asked.

"Oh, god no. He hates anything to do with 'boring theory', as he calls it. He's working in Antigua doing Magical Creature preservation. Very hands on stuff."

"He must be horrible to you, then," I said with a laugh.

Anthony frowned.

"No, we get on really well."

"Oh, I — sorry, I didn't mean … just with Blaise being the way he is, I honestly sort of forget most people don't despise their siblings on the basis of their Hogwarts house. Though I doubt I could do right by him lately, no matter which house I'm in. "

Anthony nodded awkwardly, leading me to feel even worse.

"Was it hard, growing up with him?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Unnecessarily so. Then again, he would probably say the same about me," I admitted.

Anthony shook his head.

"He'd be wrong. You're wonderful to be around."

I felt the heat rise up my face at the flattery.

"Yeah, well, you haven't been around me during final exams. Say, can I ask you something that's perhaps best brought up on a second date?" I said.

"Sure."

"You remember at St. Mungo's, when you asked me if I thought you were only half a wizard?"

He nodded hesitantly.

"Why did you look so relieved when I said no? Like you were surprised or something."

"I wasn't—"

"Anthony…"

He sighed. "Are you sure we can't talk about this after you've decided to like me properly?"

"I've already decided I like you properly," I said with a smile.

He sat back, hands folded.

"Let's just say your family name had entered my household a little before I'd met you, so I came to school with some preconceptions that were probably more correct about your brother than they were about you."

"Go on."

"My father worked briefly for a Ministry department during the First Wizarding War, and your family's name would land across his desk a few times. Please believe me when I say I don't know very much about it, but the general gist I got through scattered conversation growing up — conversation that I was too young to understand, mind you — was that one of your parents were toeing the line when it came to You-Know-Who's organization."

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, and by the dismayed look on his face, I wasn't hiding it very well.

"Heidi, please … let's talk about something else."

I nodded.

"Sure. Sure, let's change the subject."

"Alright. How were your holi—"

"My father isn't a Death Eater, just so that we're absolutely, unequivocally clear."

"I know!" Anthony spluttered, looking absolutely terrified at the turn this conversation had taken.

"I just don't want you thinking that about us!"

"Please don't be upset. I knew I shouldn't have answered," he groaned. I felt a pang of guilt as I noticed his hands shake slightly. If he wasn't yet aware that he'd gone on a date with a head case, he was now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across harshly. I just … I need you to know that I would never ascribe to that sort of thing."

"I do know that! How could I really think any differently, especially with what you did at the Ministry?"

I strained a smile. The Ministry again.

"That wasn't a very good day. Maybe we can—"

"I mean you _duelled_ Death Eaters!" he carried on.

"I lost, technically."

"Yes, but all those things we learned last year — you actually got to use them in combat! I mean how _cool._ "

Malfoy's mockery of Anthony's fussing over me flashed across my mind. I pushed it away.

"Do you miss the D.A.?" Anthony asked me after a moment of contemplation.

"Very much," I admitted. "I'm not sure I've ever felt like I had more purpose than when I was in that room with you guys."

"There's tons left to learn, believe me. Some of the Ravenclaws were thinking of starting up again. Think you would join?"

"In a heartbeat," I said excitedly.

Anthony smiled.

"I'll let them know. Terry's the one that came up with the idea. Say, I bet if you were the one to talk to Harry, it might increase the chances he'd say yes!"

"I could do that," I said, unwrapping my third Cauldron Cake. "Merlin, these are making me thirsty. Think we could go get something to drink?"

"I've got a few bottles of pumpkin juice up in my dorm," he offered. "It's only a minute away."

I nodded and we set off for the Ravenclaw common room. We came to a stop in front of a bronze eagle door-knocker, which asked an impressive riddle that I wasn't sure I'd ever get the answer to until Anthony recited it without problem.

"It asked the same one a week ago," he explained, having surely seen my baffled expression. "Are you coming in?"

"Am I allowed?" I asked cautiously, the half-open door revealing a beautifully airy room with circular bookshelves.

"I don't see why not," said Anthony, before leading me in.

"Hi, Heidi," came a soft voice before I even had a chance to step fully through the doorway. Luna was sitting with her back to me.

"Hey, Luna!"

"Care for a game of chess? It's getting rather difficult to play with myself. If I beat myself one more time I've decided we'll no longer be on speaking terms."

"You and I?" I asked as Anthony disappeared up a flight of white marble stairs.

"Me and I," she explained dreamily.

"I'd love to, but I don't think I'm in here for very long."

"That's just as well. It's bad for the brain to be in here for an extended length of time. It starts to overfill, you see."

"Alright, I've got the pumpkin juice!" said Anthony as he reappeared with two orange bottles. "We could—"

"I think Draco Malfoy is looking for you," Luna announced nonchalantly.

"W—what?" I stuttered. "Damn it, I told him to go revise with Blaise tonight!" I said, once the shock of Luna's impromptu announcement had worn off.

"I don't think it's about revision. At least that's not what it sounded like from the stall."

"From the what _?_ " asked Anthony, looking flabbergasted.

"I was sitting in there waiting for Myrtle to show up. I've been meeting her in the boys' loo lately because she doesn't really want to go anywhere else. I heard him ranting by the urinals — something about you always leaving him in his time of need."

" _What?_ Me leaving _him_ in a time of need?" I demanded.

"Yes. He says you're extremely mediocre at being loyal for a Gryffindor. For what it's worth, I think he's wrong. You're wonderfully loyal for a Gryffindor," said Luna.

"Thank you, Luna."

"You would probably make a poor Hufflepuff, however."

"That's probably true. Anyway, Anthony and I had better—"

"He's gotten much worse at pretending that he's angry. He yelled a lot, but I could hear the Wrackspurts crying in his head."

"Yes, well … I'm sure there's a potion for that," I said, trying to observe Anthony out of the corner of my eye. I hoped he wasn't making anything of what was being said, and thought I'd gotten away with it quite well until we were halfway down a fifth-floor corridor.

"So you and Malfoy are friends then?" he asked.

I shook my head emphatically.

"No. No, no. Not friends."

"Then why was he—"

"I'm sure Luna misunderstood something," I lied. "She's more than a little bit odd, after all."

The moment it came out of my mouth, a flame of guilt ignited within me. Sweeping Luna's observations under the rug because of her occasional propensity for quirkiness was about as low of a blow as one could deal.

Anthony shrugged. "I guess that's true. Bit hard to take someone seriously when they go out of their way to talk to Moaning Myrtle."

"Totally," I muttered.

"You know, there's somewhere I think we should go tonight. For old time's sake," Anthony said, taking me by the hand once more. I noticed it was significantly less clammy now.

"I do like a little nostalgia," I admitted. It wasn't until we got to the seventh floor that I realized this was going in an ill-advised direction.

"Close your eyes," said Anthony quietly as we walked up to an all-too-familiar tapestry.

I looked around frantically, paranoia setting in. I knew Malfoy could be anywhere in the vicinity. In fact, it was almost certain that he was, and the last thing I needed on this date was for him to emerge in a fury.

"I'd really rather not."

An expression of hurt flickered over his face. Had he been trying to kiss me?

"Oh. Well, alright… I just sort of—"

"It's not because I don't want to! We're just in a bit of a strange area of the castle."

"What do you mean? We hung out here all the time last year," said Anthony.

"I — I know. But…"

"I bet we could probably still get into the room."

"No!" I yelped, grabbing him by the arm. "Er … I don't really want to go in there; not the best memories. Marietta Edgecombe and whatnot."

"Marietta Edgecombe?"

"She … carries notions of betrayal," I explained, checking all the while to make sure we were the only ones in the corridor. "And anyway, it's getting late. Perhaps next time?"

Anthony glanced at a brass pocket-watch, which, shockingly, did not look stupid on him.

"Oh, you're right — it's nearly eleven."

I nodded enthusiastically. "We'll be seeing each other in class on Monday anyway, so maybe we ought to call it a night. But I had a lovely time! Really, honestly. Super lovely. Exquisite."

"Don't worry, I'm nervous too," he admitted.

"Huh?" I asked, lowering myself from the tip-toes I was currently standing on in an attempt to peer over his shoulder.

He took my hand into his.

"I'm nervous about kissing you, too," he mumbled.

My heart jumped in my chest. The distance between us seemed to be closing at an accelerated rate. My eyelids fluttered shut as I tried to silence the voice in my brain that was jumping up and down in excitement.

"Don't be nervous," I managed to whisper, and in doing so, became aware that there was barely any space for my lips to form words…

" _Flipendo!"_

My eyes shot open as a beam of bright light pummelled towards Anthony and brought him to the ground.

Malfoy stood behind him, wand outreached, panting victoriously.

"MALFOY, ARE YOU INSANE?" I screamed. I aimed to disarm him, but Anthony pushed past me to send a curse Malfoy's way.

"Really, Goldstein? A body-bind curse? Thought your D.A. lot taught you something more than second year spells. _Confringo!_ "

"MALFOY!" I wailed helplessly, now forgetting to use my wand altogether.

" _Depulso!_ "

"Oh my god, Anthony! That's it, this is — e _xpelliarmus!_ "

Malfoy's wand shot into my hand.

"Very well done, Zabini," he taunted.

I ignored him and helped Anthony up off the floor.

"Are you alright?" I asked, noting that blood was quickly appearing on his lip. I wiped it gently.

"Yes, yes, you two are a match made in heaven," came Malfoy's drawl from behind me. "Now kindly give me my wand back and fuck off."

I turned to him, certain that I looked as furious as my face had the capability to.

"If you think I'm returning this any time soon, you are so very mistaken, Malfoy. Move so much as an inch before I come back, and I will _kill_ you," I hissed. I shoved his wand in my pocket and turned back to Anthony. "Can I walk with you to your common room?"

He nodded, looking shaken. My heart sank a little.

"C'mon, let's go," I said, grabbing him by the hand without a look back at Malfoy. If he wanted his wand back, he'd know better than to run off.

"I am _so_ sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything," mumbled Anthony.

"This is going to sound very strange to you, but when it comes to Malfoy, it's virtually always because I've done something."

"He's an absolute nutcase. I can't believe they haven't locked him up yet," Anthony ranted. "I'm telling Professor Flitwick everything."

"I couldn't blame you, honestly," I admitted as we found ourselves back at the door to the Ravenclaw common room "Look, I am so completely sorry you had to go through this tonight. If you want to forget all about this whole thing, I won't be angry with you."

"Forget about what whole thing?"

"You know … this. Me," I said.

"You? You want me to forget about _you_?"

I shrugged. I wasn't quite sure how to explain to him that I didn't expect Malfoy to stop inconveniently popping up in my life any time soon.

"Look, I'm not going to stop dating you just because Malfoy has some sort of issue with people kissing in the hallways. I mean … do you want me to?"

"Do I want you to kiss me in the hallways?"

He chuckled quietly.

"Do you want me to stop seeing you?"

"Yes to the first one, and a definite no to the second," I said with a smile, which shrank away as I noticed his lip was swelling. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Nothing a bunch of Ravenclaws can't fix if they put their minds to it," he said. "That or I'll find some ice."

"Okay, I just—"

"Please don't worry about it. With any luck, Professor Flitwick will have him expelled within the week."

I forced a smile.

"Right."

"Or you'll have him murdered like you promised to back there," he said with an amused glint in his eye.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm not normally like this," I admitted.

"I know. Will I see you at breakfast tomorrow?" he asked.

I sighed.

"If he doesn't beat me to the punch and kill _me_ when I go to confront him."

The smile faded from his face.

"Wait … you're actually going to go talk to him? I thought you were kidding."

That was when I first realized I was stuck in yet another Malfoy-related quandary. I could either admit to Anthony that I would be on my way to the Room of Requirement for a round two with Draco Malfoy that defined all rules of sanity … or I could lie.

"No, of course not. I'll be going to bed."

Great. I had now both threatened murder and lied to my date in the span of an hour. A healthy start if I've ever seen one.

"Good. Well in that case, I suppose I'll head to bed myself. Sleep well, Heidi."

He bent down to pressed his bruised lips softly to my cheek, and I was beyond relieved when I realized that I could stand — no, _wanted_ — to have them land on my lips instead. Shit. I finally had something that could actually _work_.

I could go to my room right at this moment, crawl under the covers, and squeal in teenage glee at the fact that I had finally found a nice, normal guy. I could poke Hermione awake and gossip about dating, and boys, and the way your heart jumps in your chest when you realize somebody actually wants to put their mouth on yours.

And I would have been absolutely free to do all of those things, except for the fact that I had to go confront an unhinged git-turned-Death-Eater who apparently talks to himself by urinals.

Fucking _Malfoy_.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Are you insane? Like are you actually, physically out of your right mind? Anthony's threatening to set Flitwick on you, and I honestly hope he does!" I snarled as I slammed the door to the Room of Requirement. He was sitting in front of a fireplace, on the baby blue vinyl couch I usually inhabited when we were in here.

"Could ask you the same about the state of _your_ brain, Zabini, couldn't I? If you can call it that."

"Look, I understand that you absolutely despise kissing me, but to go out and try to kill everyone else that tries—"

He sprang up off the couch without hesitation.

"I don't give a shit what you two were doing with those inept mouths of yours, so let's just clear _that_ right up. But the fact that you fucking brought Goldstein here? To _this_ room? You're out of your goddamn mind."

"Malfoy, it wasn't his fault he's pissed you off! You'll fly off the handle at just about anything these days, so don't try to justify your shitty violent outburst by deluding yourself that I brought Anthony here. And even if you really are dense enough to think I brought him to the Room of Requirement, this was _our_ room last year, not yours," I snapped.

"Well that can't be right, Zabini, seeing as you've never been—"

"I meant Dumbledore's Army, not Anthony and I," I interjected, knowing where he was trying to go with this. "Either way, you don't get to claim it as your moping space just because you want to."

"I told you there was something important in here, didn't I? I told you that I couldn't fucking risk having the room changed on me. And yet—"

I knocked his hand away as he pointed threateningly at me.

"And _I_ am telling _you_ that me wanting to be on better terms with you does not mean you get a free pass to behave in your usual sickening manner. Do _not_ think you have the right to hurt people I care about!"

He paused, then smirked, sending a bolt of fury through me.

"People you care about, Zabini? Doesn't take long to get you falling head over heels, does it?"

"It takes longer than you think, Malfoy," I replied, before gathering my bag.

"Leaving so soon?" he called after me as I stormed my way through the maze of clutter. I realized he was following me. "Well, I suppose you have to run and nurse Goldstein back to health. Tell me, Zabini, is this a kink of yours? I feel quite used now."

"You know what? I don't have to put up with this anymore. I only have one thing to say to you until you smarten up, and it's this: if you raise your wand at him or anybody else again, I'll be the first one to hex you, Malfoy, you mark my words."

"I'm shaking in my fucking shoes, Zabini," he taunted. "How _ever_ will I sleep at night?"

"Alone," I said firmly, throwing his wand back at him and closing the door in my wake.

 


	28. Stab of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok because I wanna preserve my status as ‘frequent updating queeeennn’ as one of you wonderful people have called me, I’ve decided to be irresponsible with my priorities and upload again instead. I hope you guys enjoy! And as always, much love for the kudos, subs, bookmarks and comments (and those of you who simply stroll by to take a look!)
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Slytherin's pole, Zabini! Creep much?" 

I stepped out from the shadows of the dungeon, trying to look nonchalant.

"I wasn't creeping; I was trying to talk to you like a normal person! You're the one that keeps taking off. Anyway, I'm in need of a favour."

I tried to sound dignified saying it — like it was perfectly natural to ask Pansy Parkinson for even a quill to borrow.

"They're always in need of a favour," she said smugly, crossing her arms and looking at me with an expectant expression.

"I recognize you probably won't do it unless I offer you something. So I am."

"You're what?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Offering you something. I'll help you with my brother. Do we have a deal?"

She snorted, and I couldn't help but picture a pug trying to gulp air.

"We obviously do _not_ , Zabini, until you tell me what exactly you've come to me for. Knowing you, it's something stupid."

"I thought you said you liked me now!" I said accusingly. She shrugged, unfazed.

"Just because I admire your balls doesn't mean I like you."

"Are the boys aware of this credo of yours before they drop their pants?" I asked innocently.

Much to my surprise, instead of telling me to go do something to myself that I had no intention of doing in the Slytherin part of the dungeons, she broke into a grin.

" _Very_ clever, Zabini. Now what do you want? I don't have much time — we're all going to Hogsmeade soon."

"Well that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about… see I was wondering about the kind of thing one would wear to a place that's sort of similar to Madam Puddifoot's. Or, you know, _is_ Madam Puddifoot's … say, for a food-type-thing."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"A 'food-type-thing' or a date?"

"I don't know the difference," I admitted sheepishly.

"Is this pre-lunch or post-lunch?" asked Pansy.

"It's at six tonight."

" _That_ would be a date, Zabini. A real one. Congratulations," she said.

"Erm … thank you."

"So what's your endgame, then?" Pansy asked, crossing her arms in a most analytical way.

I raised an eyebrow, perplexed.

"My endgame?"

"Yes. What's your goal? What do you want to happen?"

"Well, I — I'd like to eat if possible."

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Let me put it this way: how much of Goldstein do you want to _see?_ "

I could feel heat creeping up my neck.

"Just above the neck is fine for today."

Pansy's face went blank before she doubled over, cackling with laughter.

"I meant do you want him to stick around for next time! Merlin, Zabini, I can't breathe!"

"Well of course I want him to stick around! I'm frankly shocked he still is, after how our last date went," I snapped.

She wiped at her eyes, releasing her final shrieks of laughter. 

"How did it go, then?"

"Let's see: we didn't get to kiss properly, and he got a split lip _and_ head injury. I don't think that amounts to a gold star."

Pansy scrunched her nose up.

"Well you're definitely going to have to step it up this time, Zabini. Not everyone wants to get their head smashed in trying to kiss you."

"Yes, I'm well aware, thanks."

She sighed in what I assumed was supposed to sound like exceptional martyrdom, but what really came out like a deflating balloon.

"Alright, fine, we'll go to my dorm room. But I only have an hour so if you're going to be difficult, take it somewhere else. As it so happens, I've got a few questions of my own for you."

"Wait, I have to go to your room? Why?"

"Because I can guarantee, having observed you over these past years of our lives, that you don't even own something I would wear to talk to my house-elf in, let alone put on for a date."

I reflected on this for a moment.

"Fair enough."

I scooped up my belongings and followed her through the dungeons until we got to a blank stretch of wall.

"Close your ears," she demanded.

I rolled my eyes and pressed my palms to my ears.

"I saw Potter snogging Granger the other day, by the way," she said.

" _What?_ "

"See, I knew you could still hear me. I said close your ears."

"Oh sod off, Parkinson," I grumbled as I squeezed on them tighter until I could hear nothing but the pounding of my own heartbeat. Pansy leaned in and whispered something to the wall, until brick by brick, an opening emerged. She beckoned me in.

"Bloody hell, is this really your common room?" I asked, ignoring a pair of kids with heavy eyebrows as they glared at me from underneath them, presumably because of the bright Gryffindor patch on my bag. "No wonder you're all depressive. Do you people ever get any natural light in here?"

Green leather couches and armchairs surrounded dark ornate chess sets, while a massive fireplace carved with snakes flickered on. Despite the orange flames, however, these excessive shows of wealth were all covered in a dim green hue. It had all the makings of a perfect place to hatch schemes.

"No need to worry about us; we're doing quite well for ourselves, even in the depths of our lair. Where are you going? That's the boys' dorm."

I stopped short in front of a heavy iron door.

"Oh."

Before I could stop it, the image of Malfoy soared through my mind. I hadn't seen him for days and although I was trying very hard to ignore the gnawing that this fact had left in the pit of my stomach, I couldn't help but wonder if he was in there, only a doorway away, and if he was doing okay.

"Hurry up, Zabini! If you want to sneak a peek, do it on your own time."

"Is Malfoy here?" I asked pseudo-casually. "I need to ask him something about Charms."

_Lie._

"I haven't seen him since Thursday, but Daphne might know. You can ask if she's down in our room."

I made a solid attempt at ignoring the feeling of being punched that seemed to be recurring lately at the mention of Daphne Greengrass' name.

"Right. I'll do that."

She led me down a set of stone steps until I was sure you couldn't go deeper into the castle without hitting the Chamber of Secrets itself. I expected a horrible, cold room of a dormitory, and in some respects it certainly was — the windows were throwing a cool, dark hue on the room, and instead of showing sky like I was used to, they opened our sights to the bottom of a lake. In the middle of the room, however, was a circular fireplace casting warmth all around.

"This one's mine," said Pansy as she set her bag down beside a dark wooden vanity. "Go on, sit down."

Hesitantly, I lowered myself onto the seat in front of it, and flinched as I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

"Have I had poppy seeds in my teeth all day?" I gasped.

"How should I know? Start taking down your braid; it's an absolute mess."

I pulled the elastic out of my hair and let it bounce down past my shoulders. Pansy cast a quick spell, and all the knots that I'd accumulated through a rough night's sleep but hadn't bothered to deal with untangled themselves.

"Curled, straightened, or up?"

"What?"

"Your hair. How do you want it?" she asked impatiently.

"I … I dunno."

She sighed and moved a stack of Witch Weeklys towards me.

"Flip through these and pick one that you like. Nothing with bangs or it'll distort your head."

I nodded and began fingering through the pages. She strode across the room to a wardrobe and hauled it open.

"Alright, start telling. What's your brother into?" she demanded as she sifted through hangers of expensive-looking fabric.

"Himself," I muttered unenthusiastically while beautiful people with undistorted heads smiled up at me. Did I really have a head I couldn't wear bangs with? Why hadn't anybody told me all through third year, when that was my hairstyle of choice? Was this why Malfoy had begun to call me Freakface? "And Quidditch."

"Yes, I know he likes Quidditch. His favourite team's Ireland. Favourite player's Aidan Lynch."

I looked up from the magazine in shock, then giggled.

"Bless your soul, is that what he told you?"

"Everybody knows that!" she said as she pulled out a bunch of dresses from her closet.

"That's _my_ favourite team and player. His favourite's the Quafflepunchers. You know, the French guys that wear those hot pink robes?"

"I… I didn't know," said Pansy, and for the first time since I'd known her, she looked honestly dejected.

"I mean it's not _that_ important. But I guess it makes sense that he'd hide things, especially from you guys," I said with a shrug.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he knows you'd all judge him. And don't deny it, you know you would."

"I mean, maybe Draco and Theo…"

"And you."

Pansy huffed and snatched the stack of magazines off the desk.

"I would not! I like a guy with a soft side, thanks very much."

"Then you'll have to take him to a pet store. Malfoy and I could barely haul him away from the Puffskeins when we went a few summers ago."

"Of course _Draco_ would try to haul him away. I'm not sure the man's ever felt a positive emotion stronger than neutral."

I frowned as she began parting my hair, having apparently decided that she knew exactly what to do with it without Witch Weekly's help.

"Why would you say that?" I asked.

"Because it's true. Everything was always 'fine' with him: 'your dress is fine, that dinner was fine, I'm fine, it's fine'. Excuse me for wanting a little more engagement." She scrunched her nose up. "How is it I'm telling you all this, Zabini?"

I shrugged.

"It's those stupid eyes of yours. They're very disarming, you know. You should use that to your advantage more often."

"I'll make a note of it," I said.

"Anyway, enough about me. What's your thing?"

"My what?" I asked.

"You know, your _thing._ What do you want in a man? Do you like them tall? Short? Boring? Ugly?"

"Boring and ugly. Bonus points for really, really stupid."

Pansy snorted as she pinned a strand of my hair back to make a complex sort of ponytail.

"Should I fetch Crabbe for you?"

"Please don't."

"I bet you like them complicated," she mused. "Maybe a little dark to go with that annoyingly self-righteous personality of yours. But then again, you're dating Goldstein so that can't be right."

I stared at my lap, not knowing how to answer. She took advantage of my distraction to give my hair a good hard pull in order to force it through an overly-tight elastic. By the time I had managed to react, the pain was gone and she was smiling at me innocently in the mirror.

"Alright, on to the dress. I think you should wear something darker, but not black; black's just not you yet. Nothing cool-toned; I'm not feeling it today. Besides, you already wore blue to the Christmas party, so you won't want to repeat that or you'll get bored of it. You can't wear that gold one because I'm wearing it, and if you wear the red one it'll be clichéd enough to make me vomit." She picked them out of the pile one by one to eliminate them. Suddenly, a deep grin appeared on her face. "I know the one."

She pulled out a mulberry off-the-shoulder dress with a v-neck cut deeper than I was ready to accept.

"Hard pass."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because at least one part of my body is going to come falling out of that thing!"

"Oh would you _relax_. It isn't even a proper v-neck, it's just a little notch. And anyway, it won't sit the way you think it will on you; you're shorter than I am — it'll cover a lot more. Come on, at least try it on."

I sighed.

"Fine. But only to prove you wrong."

I grabbed the dress and retreated behind a screen to change. After some struggles with a zipper which made Pansy yell 'suck in', and a mouthful of velvet fuzz, I emerged.

"Shit, Zabini. Upgrade much?"

"I dunno," I mumbled as I tugged it down. She had been right — it hadn't landed midway up the thigh like I thought it would have, and was instead sitting comfortably above my knees. "Are you sure this isn't overdoing it? It's only Hogsmeade."

"Well by the sounds of it, you've been under-doing it until now." She tilted her head contemplatively to the side as she took me in. "Look, if you're only dressing up like this for Goldstein, then you may as well take everything off right now because you won't have any fun in it at all. But if you're doing this at least a little bit for yourself, then you better put on some nice heels and embrace it."

I chewed my lip in contemplation as I looked at myself in the mirror. It certainly wasn't _bad_.

I gave in and sat back down.

"Alright, I'll do your makeup then."

"Won't it smudge off by six?"

"Honestly, Zabini, have you never cast a beauty charm in your life? There are spells for just about everything these days. Here, pass me that eyeshadow kit. The purple one."

I did as told.

"Now close your eyes."

"Why are you going out so early?" I asked as she applied some sort of paste to my eyelids.

"Because we're all coming back after to hang out in the common room."

"Who's we?"

"Myself, Blaise, Tracey and Theo. Daphne and Draco have something else planned apparently, the losers. If she manages to find him, that is."

"Are they together then?" I asked casually.

"She seems to think so. He agreed to take her out to dinner. I suppose that's a step farther than I've gotten with Blaise."

"Well have you asked him?" I asked, skillfully dodging her mascara wand until she physically forced my head still.

"Asked him what?"

"Out to dinner?"

"Have _I_ asked _him?_ Of course not."

"Well _he's_ never going to do it _._ He's terrified of it ever since Adelaide Murton turned him down in third year— which, if you ask me, he deserved. Ow! You're poking me with that thing."

She closed her tube of mascara, an expression of understanding dawning on her hardened face.

"Of course! Why didn't I … but I thought he asked … but that must have been before Adelaide."

"Honestly, just ask him out and be done with it! You're jumping through all these mental hoops for no reason. It's only my brother, it's not like he's some sort of international celebrity," I exclaimed.

Pansy shrugged and picked up a tube of vampy purple lipstick. I grabbed it out of her hands and squinted at the label.

"Does that … does that say ' _Slag of Magic_ '? Are they allowed to call a lipstick colour that?"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed it back to uncap it.

"It says _Stab_ of Magic, Zabini. The label's smudged."

"It's a little dark, don't you think?"

"You can pull it off. And anyway, it's winter," she explained.

"That tells me literally nothing."

"You can wear darker lipsticks in cold weather without looking like you're trying to get some. Which, by the way, you are. So what does it matter?"

She didn't wait for my approval, and began applying it onto my lips. I squinted at the finished product.

"How is it that I look _so_ different and yet essentially the same?"

Pansy giggled.

"Well it's only a nice dress and some makeup. What did you expect? To grow half a meter and three cup sizes in the span of an hour?"

"Do you really think this looks alright?" I asked, turning to her.

"Let's put it this way: if I was a loser like Goldstein and I saw you walk in wearing that, I would have a hard time fighting the urge to get to know you a little more below the neck. Know what I mean?"

I could feel myself blush.

"Thanks, Parkinson."

"You're welcome. Now get out before Daphne comes in. She doesn't much care for you, and I'm pretty sure that's her diamond choker I put around your neck. I stole it fair and square, of course. She still has a pair of my ruby earrings."

"Wait, why doesn't she like me?" I asked as I changed back into my regular clothes. I'd put the dress on later.

Pansy shrugged.

"Something stupid about Malfoy mentioning you to her. I can't remember. She's always got it out for someone or other, it's impossible to keep track."

"Is that why you get on so well? Mutual grudges?" I teased.

"Har har, Zabini. Now get lost. I still have to do my hair."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"You look incredible," exclaimed Anthony a few hours later as we stood in front of the frilly pink atrocity that was Madam Puddifoot's.

"I know it's a bit much, but I figured—"

"No, it's perfect."

"Really?"

He nodded and wove his fingers through mine.

"I got us a table in the back. I hope that's alright."

"I don't think I've ever actually been in here," I mused as we made our way past some candlelit tables. A sickeningly lovelorn ballad was playing through a set of speakers, and I fought the urge to mock it.

"Me neither, if I'm honest. But I hear the cakes are good."

He pulled out a chair for me, and I noticed with morbid amusement that the pink floral cushion on it exactly matched the pink floral wallpaper.

"Are these the menus?" I asked as I picked up a fuzzy rose-coloured book that would pale even Umbridge's decor.

"I guess so," remarked Anthony as he pulled his towards him. "Order whatever you like."

I never thought there would be a moment in my life that I yearned for Pansy's presence, but that was evidently before I was meant to interpret what 'order whatever you like' meant in the context of a date with a boy. I had never sat in a restaurant with a male who offered to pay. I mean, there was Malfoy, but it was hardly a secret to him that I ate like a pig — and I'd wanted to run up the tab to spite him anyway.

"I'll take a water. Sparkling," I said, noting that it was only a sickle more expensive than the regular kind.

"What are you having to eat?"

I scanned the menu for the cheapest thing on it.

"I'll just have a scone."

"Only a scone? Is that enough to fill you up?" asked Anthony.

_As long as it comes with a side of three more scones and a steak._

"Oh yes, that should be more than enough," I lied, sliding the menu away from me.

"Alright, well we can go to the Three Broomsticks after if you're still hungry. It's a little less romantic in there, but I'm pretty sure they at least serve food."

It was at that moment that my appreciation for Anthony Goldstein tripled.

"How was your Quidditch practice yesterday evening? I saw you practicing your … things."

"Porskoff Ploys. No idea why Harry's got the whole team on those, they're only meant for Chasers. Shoot, I shouldn't have told you we're using those in the next game! Don't tell Cho or Jeremy!"

"I honestly wouldn't know what to say," Anthony admitted as he wrote down our orders on a charmed notepad.

"Have you ever played?"

He shook his head.

"It always seemed like a waste of time. I mean, it doesn't really _accomplish_ anything, does it? You just fly around chasing after a tiny little ball until someone catches it. You're not exactly saving lives, right? And anyway, I don't know what I'm looking at half the time."

"Well it isn't quite _so_ easy," I replied, feeling infinitely less cool.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean you specifically; I just meant the whole culture around it. You're great at it though, I can tell."

"Well how can you tell if you don't know what you're looking at?" I joked.

"You got me there," he admitted. "Though I figure I can gather a thing or two from the people screaming your name in the stands, especially when you play Slytherin."

I let him have that one, but didn't budge on my opinion of Cho Chang not being 'that bad' until the delivery of our food distracted me enough that I accidentally conceded.

"Would you like a coffee at least?" asked Anthony, long after I had downed my carbonated water and eaten my scone. We had spent at least three hours lost in aimless, comfortable conversation.

"I shouldn't. I can barely sleep as it is," I said.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Hm?"

I tore my eyes off the cake display to look at him.

"You said you're having trouble sleeping," he repeated.

"Oh, it's nothing serious. I'm probably missing something from my routine, that's all."

_Something snarky and annoying._

"You should try some melatonin," he suggested. "My mother swears by it. It's muggle stuff — weaker than a potion, but not as hard on the body. Cheaper too."

"Interesting," I remarked. "Does that happen a lot at your house? Using muggle stuff?"

"I guess it's a mix. Dad can be a bit stubborn about it, but he'll eventually give in. Wishes he didn't with the television though. He can barely rip my little sister away from it."

"Oh I love those things! Professor Burbage managed to get one working in Muggle Studies for about three minutes before it cut out, but it was extremely cool."

Anthony grinned.

"You should come over sometime during the holidays then. We could watch something," he suggested.

I smiled.

"I'd like that."

"And maybe you could show me a little bit more about Quidditch?"

"Oh I am _always_ ready to teach the unwary civilian about Quidditch, believe me," I exclaimed as we stood up to leave.

"Is it really time to part ways already?" asked Anthony as I slipped on my travelling cloak. My heart did a little tumble in my chest as I put my hand in his. I didn't want to part ways. I wanted to snog him — once, and then twice, and then three times over.

"It doesn't have to be," I said decisively, as I led him out of the teashop.

We ended up on the Quidditch pitch, after I stubbornly insisted that I would force him through the rules once and for all.

"Look, these hoops up there are only for the Keepers and occasionally the Chasers, depending on the move. I'm not allowed to enter the area as Beater," I said as I pointed to them from our seat on the bleachers.

"I thought you said—"

" _Unless_ the other Beater sends a bludger through and it enters those little demarcations. Then I can intercept it. Now, I'm not allowed to use my bat to actually hit a player in the knees, but if someone flies up behind me while I'm backhanding it and I end up hitting them, then I don't get penalized for it. Malfoy did that once and it was _brilliant_. Also, if I touch a Quaffle then we're forced into a penalty, but if I touch the Snitch then I'm thrown out of the match. I did that during practice earlier this year and Harry just about lost it. "

"This is a lot," admitted Anthony.

I took a deep breath, and realized my mouth had gone completely dry from the chatter.

"I'm sorry. Every time I try to explain basics I sort of get carried away. I should probably rest my mouth, I've been yammering on for like an hour."

Anthony nodded.

"My lip's healed well, by the way," he told me.

"That's really good!"

"Not a trace of pain or bruising."

"Great!" I affirmed.

"Totally back to its full range of uses."

The gears began turning ever-so-slowly in my head. Luckily, only one of us was stupid, and the other one was putting an end to my pointless mutterings with his mouth — once, and then twice, and then three times over.

I returned to my room an hour later completely satisfied with the turn my life had taken. The evening had been a dream — the best of dreams — topped only by the fact that it was time to get out of this rib-crushing, perfume covered dress.

I opened my trunk, having decided that this was the safest place to store the dress and necklace to keep from losing them.

"Crap."

Malfoy's t-shirt had come tumbling out at my feet, an eternal reminder of promises I refused to keep. I kicked it under the bed and sat down, my heart suddenly pounding. I didn't want it near me anymore. It was like the Herbology homework I had tried to bury instead of doing, like the letters to my father I had written and erased; I was simply _never_ going to wear it again. So why was it hidden in a trunk in my self-respecting Gryffindor dormitory?

No. No more.

I dove under the bed and grabbed it before I could have the chance to change my troubled mind. It would be harder to confront him in a satisfying way if he was in his common room surrounded by Slytherins, although I supposed I could manage even that. The logical start, however, was the Room of Requirement.

Unfortunately, by the time I hit the sixth floor, I realized that I hadn't actually come up with what to say. Perhaps I would just throw it at him and run?

No. The message needed to be clear — no more screwing around.

"'I would like you to know that I refuse to keep sleeping with you any longer,'" I rehearsed as I jogged up the staircase to the seventh floor. "No, that sounds strange. 'Draco Malfoy, we will no longer be continuing with our arrangements.' Too stiff… 'Perhaps you should try some melatonin instead, Malfoy. I'll ask Anthony, my _boyfriend_ , for some.' Ugh, that is incredibly stupid. Is he even my boyfriend yet?"

I stopped short once I realized I had found the tapestry. Why was this so hard? I'd said millions of horrible things to him before and this one wasn't even an insult, merely a fact. And yet it was shocking, if he was in there, that he hadn't come out at the sound of my pounding heartbeat alone.

Perhaps he was in there with Daphne, I realized. Perhaps they were snogging right on the other side of that door, and he couldn't hear anything besides the moans they were producing. Well that was just as well, then. She'd have more use for his stupid t-shirt than I would. And I even stretched it out for her, so she ought to thank me, really.

I cleared my throat and grabbed the doorknob, swinging open the door to our room.

"Here, Malfoy, feel free to let Greengrass know I…"

My smug holler died down to a whisper as I caught the sound of crashing coming from somewhere deep in the room. I could feel my face contort with anxiety as I crept through the stacks. The sounds were all wrong; erratic and violent, like an animal banging against the walls of a cage.

"Hello?" I whispered, wand firmly in hand.

An enraged grunt echoed through the space, and I hoped against hope that it was some creature from Hagrid's class that had gotten in, and not Voldemort himself. When I got to an opening in the clutter, however, I saw that it hadn't been a stray creature at all. I put my wand away in relief.

Malfoy was sitting on the floor with his head on his knees and a crumpled black blazer beside him. It was only when I saw that he was taking shallow, shuddering gasps of air that I realized that he was crying.

 


	29. Mutual Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I hope everyone’s had a good week! Happy (belated) Thanksgiving to all of my American friends — we Canadians are weird and do it in October, but the same amount of post-turkey coma occurs, I assure you. I want to thank all of the people who commented on the last chapter. It was so, so sweet of you! And thanks of course to those who bookmarked, subscribed, left a kudos or simply stopped by to read. I hope you continue to do so with this one!
> 
> I might also mention that exams are basically here, so my updating schedule might be affected. I don’t think it would prevent me from updating all the way until December 18, but if that does occur, no need to alert the authorities about my death. I assure you, I will be very much alive, but lethargic and immobile under the weight of many textbooks.
> 
> ~ Anna =)
> 
> Disclaimer: I’m way too poor to own Harry Potter.

"M-Malfoy?" I stammered, hardly believing my eyes as I gazed at his crumpled figure. "Malfoy, what's wrong!"

He stared up at me, red-eyed and disoriented, like he was looking at a ghost. His eyes slipped nervously to his rolled-up sleeve and I, following it, realized that the Mark wasn't the only thing marring his forearm. Blue and purple blotches ascended up his flesh, disappearing under the black sleeve of his shirt. I dove towards him.

"Who did this?" I demanded, grabbing his arm before he had a chance to scramble up off the floor. Nothing. "Who did this to you, Malfoy?"

"Zabini, don't—"

" _Who, Malfoy!_ "

He swallowed nervously, and as he turned to look away from me, I realized with sinking horror that there were bruises on his neck as well.

"Answer me!" I demanded.

"Rowle."

I loosened my grip on his arm, none of this making sense.

"Rowle?" I repeated blankly. "Rowle as in Thorfinn Rowle? But … but how could he have gotten to you if you're all the way at school?"

"He didn't get to me at school. This happened over the holiday break," he said hoarsely.

"You've had … you've had these injuries all the way since break? How could they last…"

I grabbed frantically at the front of his shirt, trying to work though the buttons with shaking hands.

"Zabini—"

"Let go," I snapped, as he intercepted my fingers making their way down.

"Zab—"

"I said _let go,_ Malfoy! I need to see!"

I clasped a hand over my mouth as his shirt finally fell open, putting a litany of wounds on display.

"I'm fine," he muttered, but I knew he was too smart to think he was fooling anybody.

"You are not _fine!_ " I spat. "You are _purple!_ " Noticing a peculiarity in the way the bruises were ridged, I brushed my fingers over the ones on his chest, eliciting a pained flinch. "He didn't just beat you up…" I said as shocked comprehension dawned on me. "He cursed you — these are from a curse."

"They're not."

The hell they weren't.

"I'm taking you to Pomfrey," I said resolutely. "I've had just about enough of this. You are not fucking _dying_ on my watch; you are going to Pomfrey and you're getting these wounds taken care of, you absolute lunatic."

He shook his head frantically as I tugged on his arm, trying with all my might to get him up off the floor.

"Zabini, do not do this."

"You _know_ you're hurt, Malfoy! Do not look at me like I'm some sort of idiot and lie to me and tell me that you're fine!" I snapped as I struggled to hoist him towards me. He was putting all his weight down in return, exhausting my efforts. Just as I thought I was making progress, he switched his grip and pulled me shrieking onto him.

"Look, I know that you're trying to help me. I know that now," he said hotly against my ear. "And I'm more grateful than you think to have a stubborn bitch like you in my life, but this is not the way to fix what has been happening. If any of them find out that staff at school know I'm a Death Eater they will _kill_ me, Zabini. They will literally murder me."

"Malfoy, let go," I begged, realizing with horror that sympathetic tears had begun to well in my eyes. I blinked them away.

He ignored my pleas, keeping his hands locked firmly around my elbows.

"I know I owe you about a million apologies, and if you don't go to Pomfrey I will personally sit with you all night and apologize for everything I've ever done to wrong you, item by item. Please."

"Malf—"

He grabbed at my shoulders with shaking hands, keeping me down, and something about the way he was begging dented my resolve even more.

"I'm sorry for saying 'fuck you' when you were upset about my father escaping Azkaban. I'm sorry for ignoring you when you were trying to wish me a Happy New Year. I'm sorry for telling you that kissing Greengrass doesn't make me want to crawl out of my fucking skin, and I'm sorry for ruining your date with Goldstein by dropping him to the ground. What else, Zabini? What else do you need to hear so that you will please, _please_ consider not getting me murdered?"

"I'm not trying to get you murdered, Malfoy, I am trying to keep you alive!" I said frantically.

"I'm sorry I kissed you when you didn't want me to. I didn't know what else to do to make you stop crying, and I clearly lost it for a moment. I wish it never happened."

I stopped my struggles for a moment as his words penetrated my brain.

"You wish you never kissed me?" I asked. This was it. The confirmation that I had long suspected, but had dreaded all the same.

"I wish I never upset you."

Relief, gushing relief. And then a terrible thought.

"When over the holidays?"

"What?"

"When did Rowle do this to you? Was it before or after I went to The Burrow?"

The little bit of light in this corner of the room danced off his tear-stained face. I fought back the urge to break his loosening grip and wipe them away in an effort to restore him back to his usual self.

"Before."

"So when you came into my room… when we fought… you were already…"

"Zabini, don't go down this path of reasoning. It's stupid."

"Why didn't I notice? Why didn't I see the marks?" I choked out in dismay.

"I covered them," he replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"No — I of all fucking people should have paid more attention. I should have known that you'd have to go see these people outside of school. And instead of stopping you, I left you to your own devices."

"Instead of stopping me? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I've basically got you in a full body bind and I didn't even have to use my wand."

"Malfoy, I …"

But what could I say? That I wanted him to live through all this? He knew that already. That I missed having him around? He wouldn't care, he had bigger things to tend to whether I liked it or not. That having his arms around me, even in this ridiculous, unromantic context, was doing terrible things to my brain? Well he didn't know _that,_ but I didn't see how it would solve our immediate problem of him getting near-murdered and me being involved with somebody else.

"I have to bring you to Pomfrey. You know I can't in good faith—"

"Then do it in bad faith! You hate me, remember? I know I've done a lot to ensure that already, but I'll fucking do more if I must. I'll kiss you all over again in this fucking room if I have to, Zabini, and then I'll blame it all on you and I won't give you any fucking explanation. Don't try me. You know I will."

But there was nothing in his eyes to give credence to this most horrible plan. No maliciousness. No intent. Just fear, plan and simple.

"I miss you, Malfoy," I whispered. "It's disgusting how much I miss you."

His eyes scanned mine.

"Fuck."

There he was, echoing my sentiments.

"Truly," I said with a sigh, crumpling slightly under his grip. There was no point in trying to fight it anymore. No one was going anywhere, at least for tonight, and we both knew it.

He stared blankly ahead, clearly buried in whatever had been troubling him prior to my arrival. I became distantly aware, however, that he maintained his grasp on me as I sat on top of him, only now it was around my waist.

_Anthony._

I unclasped his arms and got up, trying to play off the clumsy flailing Pansy's heels induced as they twisted my ankles. He followed suit.

"What are you doing in Pansy's dress?" he asked, as if only just realizing that I didn't look like my usual fuzzy-cardigan wearing self.

"Oh, is that what this is? I — I didn't realize," I fibbed.

Malfoy circled to the back of it and gently inspected the zipper.

"I'm definitely the one that broke that," he said, coming back around to face me.

"Doing what?"

He arched an eyebrow and gave me a pointed look.

"Gross, Malfoy!"

The last thing I had intended was to wear Pansy Parkinson's sex dress to my date with Anthony — or to my run-in with the one who ripped it.

"I almost didn't recognize it at first," mused Malfoy as I hopped up and down trying to reach backwards for the zipper. "It looks different on you."

"Yes, I'm aware I'm a cow, thanks," I snapped. "Can you please help me get out of this?"

"That's not what I said," he muttered as his fingers found their way to the zipper. I tried to suppress a shiver as they ran over my shoulder. "I just meant it sits differently. It's a little more … screw it, Zabini, I don't know what I'm saying. I've had a long—"

"Oh my god, Malfoy, I didn't mean strip me!" I yelped as he pulled down the shoulders, clearly not paying attention to what he was doing. I barely had time to grab the front of the dress to keep from flashing him again.

"You told me to help get you out of it!" he protested, holding his hands up.

"I meant help me with the _zipper!_ I'll be changing behind the troll, thank you very much. You clearly seem to think we have a lot in common anyway."

I scooped up his shirt, which had been flung and forgotten, with one hand while holding the dress in place with the other.

He frowned.

"Are you staying?"

"Are you going to let me leave?" I asked.

Malfoy shook his head.

"Then I guess I'm staying."

"Do you just carry that thing around with you?" he asked, pointing to his shirt.

"Of course not! I was coming in to…" _Cut every remaining tie with you that I possibly could._ "I just figured it had been a while, and I hadn't seen you for quite a few days so I wasn't sure how you were doing. With the sleeping thing."

"Not the best, Zabini," Malfoy admitted.

"Yeah, I can see that. Those bags under your eyes — I'm pretty sure they're suitcases. Daphne more the type to try and keep you up at night?" I joked, trying to reduce the tension that was growing at the knowledge that our old bedtime routine was becoming something quite different than it was originally intended to be.

Malfoy didn't return my smile. Feeling awkward, I made my way to the troll in a tutu. When I came back out looking much less well dressed, Malfoy was lingering nearby, clearly wanting to say something.

"Yes?" I asked expectantly.

"Look, about the Daphne thing … there isn't one. I was just trying to prove a point, Zabini. It was spiteful of me and I'm sorry."

"Oh. You may want to tell her that, then. She seems to think you're having dinner together," I said, ignoring his apology.

Malfoy frowned.

"Who told you that?"

"Pansy."

This apparently clarified nothing for him.

"Why the hell were you talking to Pansy all of a sudden? And you still haven't answered me about that dress. It's a bit of a strange thing to wear just to check up on me, don't you think, Zabini?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't dress up to check on you, Malfoy. I — I asked her to help me get ready for something else tonight."

"Something else?" he pressed as we walked through the towers of clutter to the bed.

"I went on a date, alright! Can we—"

"With who?"

"With Anthony!" I exclaimed, suddenly finding myself beyond exasperated.

"Wait, you're still dating Goldstein?"

"Well I figured it would be nice to try to date people who don't curse at me after we meet mouths. He seems to agree."

"Can't fault you for that one, I suppose," he said as he pulled his shirt off. "I'm just surprised he came back for seconds after I was done with him. I must say, Zabini, for all that time you losers spent hiding out in here learning spells from Potty, he could barely muster enough strength for a counter-jinx."

But I was barely listening — my eyes were scanning the bruises again, which seemed to warp as the light dimmed. He caught on quickly to where my gaze had landed.

"Don't look at me like that. It really makes it difficult to want to piss you off."

"You still have to treat those wounds, Malfoy. You know you do," I said.

"I know. We'll think of something tomorrow."

"What did he curse you with?" I asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Malfoy you're studying Healing. You know it matters."

He sighed irately.

"I'd rather not say."

"Great. You won't let me go to Pomfrey, and you won't tell me what curse was used on you so I can try to tend to it myself. You are literally _trying_ to die," I complained as I dragged a nearby armchair to the bed. I'd be sleeping on this tonight and having a long, potentially unpleasant chat with Anthony in the morning. "You know, sometimes I think you're not trying to help yourself at—"

"He _Crucio_ -ed me, Zabini. Twice. Does that help you with your diagnosis?"

The half-lifted armchair fell with a thud; my arms had suddenly given out.

"Hey, come on now…"

Somewhere in the depths of my mind I was aware that he was stepping around the bed to walk towards me, but all I could see was an image of him writhing on a floor somewhere, eliciting sick, inhuman screams.

"C'mon, Zabini, you don't need to cry. I made it through."

Was I crying? I brought a hand to my face and sure enough, hot tears had been racing each other down my cheeks.

"Listen to me, Malfoy, I have seen the Cruciatus in action before. I know _exactly_ what it looks like. Hell, I know what it _sounds_ like."

"I know you do," he said as he put my hands in his.

"You are _not_ supposed to have bruises after!" I said through grit teeth and trembling lips. "That is an entirely different level of sadism and you know it!"

"I do."

"Then why aren't you telling anybody!"

Malfoy shrugged.

"Because I already told you," he said and, without wasting time waiting for my endless onslaught of half-coherent arguments, he pulled me into his scuffed up chest and wrapped his arms around me. "And I think that's enough telling for tonight, don't you?"

"No, I don't," I mumbled stubbornly against his collarbone. "And if you ask me—"

"I'm not," he said, resting his chin on the top of my head as he pulled me even closer. "I'm actually aiming for a much more silent exchange of mutual affection, Zabini. But it's you we're dealing with, so that's almost definitely not going to happen."

I frowned and looked up at him to see if he was being spiteful, only to find him smirking down at me.

"M-mutual affection?" I stammered, having only just realized what he said.

"Yes. We clearly both care very deeply about me. You should save some of those tears for my funeral, though, if only for the look on Potty's face."

I groaned and slipped out of his grasp.

"This isn't funny, Malfoy! You're not just going to hug me out of the fact that I'm right, and that you need medical attention!"

To my surprise, he laughed.

"Zabini, I don't think I could torture you out of your conviction that you're right, much less _hug_ you out of it. But Pomfrey's probably asleep, and it's too late for us to be in the corridors anyway, so all that's left is to shut up and go to bed. Which, might I add, you promised me you'd do."

"Well for all the promises I've been making, don't you think it's time you made some too?"

This seemed to sober him. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, looking at me like I ought to have known better.

"Do you really want me to waste your time making promises I have no intention or ability to keep?"

"Then make one you can keep, Malfoy!" I insisted, knowing full well how frustratingly stubborn he must have found me at that moment.

"Fine, Zabini. I promise to let you — and _only_ you — try and heal my injuries. And I promise I won't get angry with you when you somehow fuck it up. And the next time something like this happens to me, which is virtually inevitable at this point in my very shit foray into the Dark Arts, I promise I will stop the conversation and tell you, instead of letting you go off on me about some ridiculous romance-related garbage. Are you satisfied?"

"Yes."

"Good. I only aim to please you."

_Aim harder._

"What, Zabini, why are you blushing like that?" he asked as he pulled back the duvet and got into the bed.

"N-nothing. It's nothing to do with you," I lied, trying to push the image of any sort of Malfoy-induced pleasure out of my mind.

Malfoy sniggered.

"Well, well. Didn't realize Goldstein had it in him to get you this randy. If you ask me he's got the erotic appeal of a mouldy library book, but then again I'm not the target demographic I suppose."

"You're not," I said dismissively as I curled up into the armchair.

"You aren't coming into the bed?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No. It … it wouldn't be appropriate, given the state of things."

"The state of things? Christ, Zabini, you make the poor sod sound like a Dragon Pox outbreak."

Without deigning him with an answer, I reached out and pulled a blanket off the bed.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

"So exactly how pure are you needing to stay tonight? Or have you given up the goods to him already?"

" _Goodnight, Malfoy._ "

"I mean between the pocket watch and the massive rabbit-like gap between his two front teeth, I'd be shocked if you haven't."

"Malfoy, will you shut up!" I snarled.

It was only one extended snigger later that I found myself engulfed with silence. My brain, of course, was anything but.

 


	30. A Loving Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I’m quite thrilled to be able to stay on somewhat of a schedule with posting despite all the school stress going on. Hopefully I can keep it up. Much love as always!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

My shoulder blades were aching. There was a crick in my neck. My left hand had gone numb, and I couldn't get my feet into the armchair without contorting my legs in a stiff, horrible way. Yet an odd sort of pleasantness engulfed me as the cold light of morning crept into the room, passing over Malfoy's sleeping form.

It had nothing to with finding him attractive or (god forbid) arousing — those moments, which had begun occurring _far_ more often than I was okay with, were a separate nightmare altogether. But this? This was an entirely wholesome genre of happiness. I was learning him, finally, beyond the put-together, smirk-wearing git he became later in the day. I simply had no idea I'd ever get the chance.

It should probably be said, now that I had enough information to speak to the issue, that Draco Malfoy was _horrible_ to sleep with. He tossed and turned even when I knew (by the sound of Flint's sister's name coming out of his mouth) that he wasn't having nightmares. His arms, toned as they were, were too damn long — and although I proactively rolled away from his side of the bed, he found ways to elbow me in the face anyway. He stole blankets in cold weather, which I was convinced was due to him having the worst case of Only Child Syndrome ever known to man, and he always, _always_ slapped my hand away whenever I tried to poke him awake, even if it was for good reason.

Draco Malfoy was also a completely different person at night. Every single time he elbowed me, he'd jerk awake and apologize profusely, afraid that he'd somehow given me a concussion, and I had to go to great lengths to remind him that his waking form would have preferred that. The stolen blankets always got returned to me at some point in the night, and it wasn't until the last time we shared a bed that I realized it was because he was waking up and draping them over me. I learned to stop poking him to wake him, and he learned that every time he'd say Flint's sister's name, I'd start again. Most of all, I learned that I hated this armchair, and my bed at home, and every other bed he wasn't in, because although there was nobody to elbow me in any of the above locations, I'd be lying if I said I didn't sleep deeper when there was somebody to share with.

The armchair at least granted me the chance to see him wake up smiling. It was a fleeting moment, a flash in time; he never kept it on his face for long, and replaced it with disinterested neutrality almost instantly. But if the lighting was right, and I was awake before him, I got to start my day wondering with great amusement what Malfoy could possibly have dreamed up that made him smile like that.

This morning I was convinced it was somewhere between 'beating up Harry' and 'breasts — generally'.

"Hey."

I jolted out of my attempt to narrow down the latter's owner, and replied with a tense 'morning'.

"You look like you haven't slept worth shit, Zabini," he said casually.

I rolled my eyes as I got up from the armchair. Every joint in my body seemed to crack as I stretched.

"Yes, Malfoy, I do love starting my day with one of your compliments."

Malfoy shrugged. "I didn't force you to take the armchair. You were more than welcome in my bed."

I froze at the phrasing.

"It isn't yours, Malfoy. If anything it's ours." Nope. That didn't work for me either. "You know what? It's nobody's; it belongs to the room. But it is certainly not _yours_."

"What are you saying, Zabini?" he asked with a growing smirk. "Are we going to have to split custody of it? I don't think Goldstein stays up much past eight, unfortunately. As for me, I'm afraid I'll have to insist upon having it in the daytime. There's nothing better for me than a good daytime—"

"You're talking rather big for somebody a week behind on classes. Are you sure you have enough daytime to spare with those deadlines of ours?" I asked. "Unless you're exceptionally quick."

Malfoy's smirk deepened.

"I am, actually. I suppose it has something to do with me being infinitely smarter than—"

"No, I meant at the other thing." I revelled in the way his smirk fell from his face. "Oh, I'm being _silly!_ All I have to do is ask Pansy. We're _great_ friends now," I said sweetly, before holding up my hand for him to high-five it, convinced I was the most hilarious of creatures.

Having to settle for high-fiving myself, I picked up Parkinson's dress and shoes; walking into the Gryffindor common room wearing those would certainly be the lesser of two evils.

"Here, Malfoy," I said, returning the shirt to him. He narrowed his eyes.

"Are you—"

"No, I'll still do it. But we should keep this in the room. Hermione's too smart, she'll realize it isn't a girl's shirt, and that it's a far cry from something I would buy for myself. That, or Parvati will catch on."

"So?"

" _So_ she'll tell Padma, who'll tell Terry, who'll gloat to Anthony, who will confirm that it isn't his."

Malfoy squinted at the logic as he tugged his clothes back on. I sighed.

"Look, Malfoy, I only ever wear it in here anyway. So I'll just leave it, okay?"

He took the offending garment and threw it on the bed.

"Fine, Zabini, I don't give a damn if I'm honest. I expect you'll be sleeping in Goldstein's sweater vests within the week anyway. Just don't show up in here with one or I might have to vomit."

I threw my hands up.

"Why are you being like this? It's so stupid!" I complained. "I thought we made up!"

I could tell he was clenching his jaw by the little vein that jutted out of it. A few moments passed. He sighed.

"I'm…"

"Forget it. I don't have the energy," I mumbled as I picked up my wand and tucked it into my evening purse.

"What are your plans today, anyway?" Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Snogging Anthony's sweater vests, I expect. Yourself?" I snapped.

I'd expected him to say something malicious in response. I certainly wasn't prepared to hear him laughing this early in the morning.

"Fine, Zabini, point taken. Now what are you really doing?"

"What do you think? Planting my arse in a library chair to try and figure out how to heal you without the minor side-effect of offing you. Care to help?"

Malfoy gnawed on his lip regretfully.

"So I take it that's a no," I grumbled.

"I'm sorry, Zabini. I would, but I've got to do some work. If it weren't urgent, I—"

"It's fine, Malfoy. I know you've got homework to do."

He nodded. I slipped past him to the door.

"Hey," he called out after me.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. This is … unnecessarily kind of you."

I couldn't help a small smile.

"I'm thinking _maybe_ — if you stay alive long enough, that is — you'll return the favour someday," I said with a shrug.

Malfoy nodded. "Maybe I will."

"Not betting on it though," I admitted.

"I wouldn't either," he said. "Run along now, Pointless Zabini. And tell Goldstein's mothball-infused sweater vests I send my love."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

It was my second night at the library trying to find the right spell to use on Malfoy and it was, if possible, more fruitless than my first. The chairs were hard as rock, I couldn't find a relevant book worth a damn, and the lighting was making my eyes glaze over.

"Hey, Heidi!" said Anthony as he sat down next to me at the library table.

So the time had come. I bit the inside of my cheek as I evaluated how exactly to do this tactfully. The conclusion itself had been easy to come to. It was a simple equation, really: I liked Anthony a lot. Liking Anthony to the level he deserves takes time and attention. I do not like Malfoy. Keeping him from near-certain death takes time and attention. I am an idiot who makes bad decisions on a routine basis.

"Hi, Anthony," I said, turning to him. Gosh, he was handsome by library light. Was it a Ravenclaw thing?

He looked down at my book, which had been open to a particularly gruesome page.

"Catching up on some work?"

I nodded.

"Sucks that Malfoy's showing up to class again, huh?" he said as he put down some parchment bearing a finished essay on skull transfiguration that I had only just started.

"Oh yeah. Big shame," I replied. I closed my book, deciding that images of witches and wizards writhing under Unforgivables weren't the best mood-setter for the present conversation.

"I wonder if it's too late in the year to change partners?" mused Anthony. "We could do a full switch. Terry'll agree if I ask him enough, especially if it's for safety reasons. I mean, with the way he just burst in to hex me, what's to say he wouldn't do the same to you? _Especially_ to you?"

"Yeah, it's just … he er … he doesn't really do that anymore. To me."

Anthony furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"You don't have to pretend he's kind, Heidi. We all know. No one will think less of you for making the switch."

Sensing that Anthony had no inclination to drop this idea, I reluctantly assured him that I would think about it.

"Do you want to come up to the Common Room and hang out? We're doing trivia night."

I thanked Merlin that Malfoy hadn't been there to hear that.

"I can't, Anthony, I'm sorry. This is sort of urgent."

He peered at my textbook with a raised eyebrow.

"You're studying seventh year concepts; is that really urgent?" he said with a confused smile.

"It's a little more complicated than—"

"Please?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Michael Corner doesn't believe we're actually dating. I was thinking we could prove him wrong."

My gaze crept down to his mouth. Damn it, Malfoy. Just had to go and get yourself all cut up.

"I…" _Want to. Very, very badly._ "I can't. I'm sorry."

He nodded.

"What about tomorrow after class?"

I swallowed. This would only hurt him. This would inevitably only hurt him.

"I'm sorry, Anthony. I can't for the near future."

He drew his eyebrows together, and I knew he could sense something was off. It pressured me to keep talking.

"You see … I … I made a few promises to some people. And no boyfriend — or whatever you consider this to be — should have to be put through what I have to do in order to keep them."

"I'm sorry, Heidi, but you're going to need to explain," he insisted.

I took a deep breath of air.

"Here's the thing—"

"I don't think that expression has ever accompanied good news."

I tried to put my hand over his, then decided it was too condescending. I cleared my throat and kept going.

"When you first told me that you thought I'd be like my brother, I was devastated. I felt like all I had ever cared about in my life was being nothing like my family or their friends, and every time anybody thought otherwise, it was like a cut to the heart. But the thing is—"

"Heidi, you're not—"

"The thing is, I can try and try to separate myself from the people that you thought I was a part of, but I'm coming to realize that it just can't be done. I _am_ those people, Anthony — a little bit of all of them. My twin brother is as Slytherin as it gets. My own father was almost a Death Eater. I summered at Malfoy Manor more times than I can count, and I wore Pansy Parkinson's dress on my date with you last night. It is, suffice to say, complicated _._ "

Anthony shook his head.

"You're different."

"Thing is, I don't think I'm different enough," I said, somewhat gravely. "And how could I be? I was raised with all of this. It's in me. And now, learning about what my dad—"

"But what does it matter what your dad did or didn't do years before you were born? He isn't you!" exclaimed Anthony.

"He might not be me, but he could very well be my brother, or any of the other Slytherins. It isn't exactly a rare story among families like ours," I explained.

"Yes, but… but what does this have to do with us seeing each other?"

"Like I said: I made some commitments, and I have to keep them. I _have_ to. And it's got nothing to do with how much I like you — I like you _very_ much, Anthony. But I can't make you wait around while I try to do this."

"I still don't understand what exactly you're trying to do! What are these promises you keep referring to?"

"Let's just call it a war effort. See, I don't want to live in a society where I'm going to be questioned for dating a brilliant wizard like you just because of our parentage. I don't want Hermione, one of my very best friends, forcibly pried from my world. And the only way that Vol— You-Know-Who can do any of that is if he has people working for him."

"Heidi, none of us want that; it's literally why we started Dumbledore's Army!" Anthony exclaimed, looking flustered. "It's why we've got a resistance. We're all thinking about seriously starting up again. It's already in the works."

"The D.A.," I explained, "does nothing to tackle the other side of things. People like my brother can't just join the D.A."

Anthony crossed his arms stubbornly.

"Any Slytherin, if they honestly want to, is free to find any one of us and join the D.A."

"But they can't though! It's not that easy, Anthony; this sort of thing wrecks families! I know that because that is exactly how I've messed up my own. My parents are separating and I'm willing to bet my life that it was caused in no small part by the fact that I came up to all of you and joined the D.A.. And I know you respect it, but if I'm honest, sometimes I hate myself for it. It's like a fucking compulsion. I just can't leave well enough alone. I know I can't."

Anthony blinked in bemusement.

"So you're what? Taking it upon you to rescue every Slytherin from themselves?"

"Not every Slytherin, no. But I think I'm in a very good position to try with at least a few of them. Believe me, Anthony, when I have accomplished what I've set out to do, there is nothing I would rather do than go to Madam Puddifoot's with you and order three times more than the amount I did last time. Do you believe me?"

He sucked in a breath. It felt like an eternity before I got any sort of answer.

"I believe you," he finally said.

"Okay."

"I don't understand you, though."

"I definitely don't expect you to," I assured him.

"Alright. Then I guess…?"

I smiled and allowed myself to put my hand on his.

"I'll see you in class, and probably outside of it. Hopefully at some D.A. meetings."

Anthony sighed, looking torn.

"Guess I'll go tell Michael Corner I was lying about dating you."

"Anthony, you weren't lying about dating me. This was real. It still is, it's just… on hold."

He attempted to strain a smile that came out looking nothing short of a grimace and gathered his bag. He peered over my shoulder as he did so.

"You're reading the wrong volume of that textbook, by the way. You're two editions behind; they've updated the spells for healing curse contusions."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Rough day, Zabini?" asked Malfoy as I stormed into the Room of Requirement, slamming the door behind me.

"Yes, Malfoy, it has been."

"Care to share?"

"Not even a little. Take off your shirt and trousers."

His eyebrows crept up in amusement.

"Shouldn't I buy you dinner first? Granted you'd probably drain my entire inheritance with one restaurant order but—"

"I'm not going to stand around here waiting for you to strip so I can heal you. I have things to do," I snapped, tapping my foot to drive home the point. I was annoyed at my own romantic luck, and I knew I was taking it out on him but I didn't care. Doing the right thing was bloody exhausting. No wonder he abstained from it so much.

Wordlessly, Malfoy tugged his shirt over his head and began undoing the button on his trousers.

I cracked my neck and fingers, trying not to look as nervous as I was feeling. Taking a step towards him, I tried to make sure I had the process aligned in my head. _Assess the damage. Trace the damage. Say the counter-curse. Repeat._

"Should I sit or stand for this?" he asked. The only reply I met him with was my numb stare. "What? What is it?"

"I'm … scared to kill you," I admitted quietly. He rolled his eyes.

"We both know you'll be the death of me either way, so you may as well just get on with it."

"Malfoy! Not helping!"

"Look, Zabini, I promise not to haunt you if you kill me. Do you want me to write it down as evidence in case you do? I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, consent to being killed by you should this all go terribly wrong. I _will_ probably have to drift over to St. Mungo's in my spectral form and let them know not to hire you, though."

"You're not taking this seriously," I protested.

"Do you really think I'd be standing stripped in front of you if I wasn't taking this seriously? Or if I didn't think you could do this? I've watched you in class and in the hospital. I've seen the way you study, like you've got a point to prove. I know you can do this, Zabini. For all the things that I don't think you can do — and believe me, there are many — this one doesn't even cross my mind," he said.

I swallowed and took a step towards him.

"I trust you," he added. That was the nail in the coffin.

_Assess the damage._

A bruise on his neck. Two on his right arm. One on his left. Five on the back and abdomen. I paused on my uncomfortable journey south.

"Are there any on your…"

He smirked infuriatingly.

"You'd like that wouldn't you? None, unfortunately for you."

Heat rose up my face.

"Had to ask," I mumbled as I went back to my count. Four on the legs.

_Trace the damage._

I had to stand on tip-toes to get to the one on his neck. I went over it with my fingers, making sure the outline was cemented in my mind. This one was more circular than the one on his shoulder, which according to the textbook—

"Zabini, would it kill you to extend a loving touch for once in your life instead of grabbing at my body like a drunken toddler?"

His irritated drawl took me so off-guard that I dropped my hand.

"Excuse me? A _loving_ touch?" I guffawed.

"Yes. Don't you remember what they taught us at St. Mungo's about bedside manner? No one wants to be violently prodded by you and your inhumanly cold hands."

Muttering threats I had no intention of following through with, I rubbed them together to try and generate heat.

"How's this?" I asked as I brought one to his forehead.

"Better."

"I only aim to please you," I muttered bitterly, earning myself a scoff.

_Cast the counter-curse._

I picked up my wand and traced the tip around the ridges of the bruise on his neck, and, in a voice that wavered much less than expected, cast the spell.

" _Brustum!_ " I opened my eyes. "You're … you're not dead!"

"Well if I am, this is an extremely underwhelming idea of Heaven," he said in a sarcasm-laden drawl. I had never heard a voice more welcome.

"Okay. Okay, I can do this!" I said, feeling the same sort of burst of competence-infused adrenaline that I did at Quidditch matches. _Trace the damage._

I did it quicker this time, but with a significantly lighter hand. His chest erupted in goosebumps.

"Cold hands again?" I asked him, glancing up. I hadn't been prepared to find him looking at me the way that he was. My breath stuck to my throat. What did he want?

"No. They're fine."

Having no time to dwell, I eliminated the bruises on his chest and arms one after the other. Then the back and abdomen. Then the legs. I stepped back to admire my work and he looked down to do the same.

"Does it feel alright?" I asked.

"Feels fine," he replied.

"You're not lying just to be nice, are you?"

He raised his eyebrows. Point taken.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow," I said.

"I'm sure you'd prefer not to," he said with a knowing smirk as he put his clothes back on.

I frowned.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Come on Zabini, we both know you were loving your little vacation from me when you had it. Which table did you work with? Goldstein's was it?"

"Malfoy, I'd shut up while you're ahead. Trust me," I warned him.

"I'm just pointing out the very, very obvious. So when are you going to man up and say it?"

"Say what?"

He scoffed.

"I've been waiting for at least a week now. Actually, I've probably been waiting since the day you asked him out in class. I must say, I think this is the longest you've gone without spitting your demands at me."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you'd have asked me earnestly I might have considered it."

"Considered wh-"

"You only had to say you wanted to switch."

"But I don't—"

"But instead you just spend your time sitting at our table, dropping potions ingredients and staring at the back of his head," he said in disgust.

"I dropped them because you scared me when you were barking commands at me!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "And I don't want—"

"Just fucking tell me to my face that you want a new partner, Zabini. That you want to be with Goldstein. At least I can respect it if it's said to my—"

" _I don't want a new partner, Malfoy!_ I. Do. Not. Want. A. New. Partner."

"Oh please. You think I didn't see how you were looking at him in class this morning?"

My jaw dropped. How did he come up with this trash?

"I was looking at him this morning because I was trying to figure out how to break up with him this evening! Merlin, Malfoy, do I have to tell you every single part of my life just so you don't nosedive to conclusions? What do you want? D'you want me to describe in great detail what I ordered on our first date? A _scone_ , Malfoy; I took pity on his wallet. Am I supposed to tell you how it felt to snog him? Felt so good I did it three times in one hour and ended up on his lap."

Malfoy winced.

"Alright, Zabini, I get your—"

"No, what else do you need to know? How much I wanted this to work out? I wanted this to work out more than I've wanted anything in a _long_ time. Almost more than I wanted you to—"

"Me to what?" he asked.

_Kiss me again._

"It doesn't matter. Just shut up. Stop talking about him. We're over, we're done, and I'm stuck with you in this fucking room again. And I am for the most part fine with that. But if you bring him up one more time I swear to Merlin that me healing you today will become a most pointless exercise."

"Fine. Forget—"

"And stop questioning if I'm serious about sticking by you through this! It absolutely does my head in! Look around, Malfoy. I spend my evenings surrounded by dust-covered trash just to be with you. I don't see any of your snake friends doing the same. Draw some conclusions with that stupid ferrety head of yours. I don't want a new partner. I don't want a different friend. I just want you."

"We're not—"

I threw my hands up in sheer vexation.

"Salazar's fucking pole, I KNOW WE AREN'T FRIENDS. Is that really an important point to underline right now?"

Malfoy crossed his arms and looked down at me with a determinedly stoic expression on his haughty features.

"Zabini, it is not only 'a' point; it is _the_ point. The day I've relegated myself to being your friend is the day I want you to point your wand at my chest and kill me."

 


	31. A Breath Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Not much to say on my end except that I am buried under schoolwork (I have an exam and a paper due on Monday). I’ve got a new chapter for you guys anyway! Hope you enjoy. Thanks as always for the love, whatever form it’s in!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

_The day I've relegated myself to being your friend is the day I want you to point your wand at my chest and kill me._

This. This one measly, idiotically vague sentence was somehow suddenly taking over my entire life. Out of all the things that Malfoy had ever thrown at me — Freakface, and jumped-up bitch, and waste of magic — I was obsessing over him telling me _this._

Draco Malfoy firmly vetoing our friendship should not have been news to me. And of course it hadn't been at the time he said it. In fact, his meaning had been _very_ clear to me; so clear that I felt comfortable enough giving him the finger and walking out of the room as per our common routine, thinking no more of it. It wasn't until I had come up to Pansy with her dress, shoes and necklace in hand a day later that my brain was put through the wringer.

"Thanks for these, Parkinson."

"You're welcome, Zabini," she replied tersely as she took the outfit from me.

"You know, I thought of something you could do to get in better with Blaise. I know he likes to go for a run before bed. I think he used to go with Malfoy when they were on the team together. Why don't you join him sometime?" I suggested.

Pansy's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Do I look like I'm trying to be his friend?"

I blinked.

"But you … are … friends."

"We are _not_ friends, Zabini. Why, what have you heard? Has he said to you that we're friends? Merlin, I may as well kill myself now. Just take my wand and Avada me _right_ _now,_ " she said, the perfect image of hysterical despair.

"No, don't kill… wait, what did you just say?"

I could feel the gears turning in my head at double speed. I had heard that phrase before, or at least something very, very close to it.

"Zabini, you are _so_ naive. Don't you understand? If he says we're friends, it's over. Tell me he didn't say he thinks we're friends!"

So I began to analyze it. I thought about it at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I dissected it while I was sitting next to him in class. I thought about it in the bath, and by the fireplace, and even tried (having recalled Luna's advice on solving challenging problems) to deduce its meaning while hanging upside down off my four-poster bed for a 'change of perspective'. This granted me no additional clarity, of course, and instead caused an extremely painful headache that I was still nursing a few hours later as I stood outside the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Heidi! Oi, Heidi!"

I looked up to see my brother pushing his way through the crowd to get to me.

"Got a letter from Dad today," he announced in a hardened voice as he stopped short of Malfoy and I.

"Well ... what did it say?" I asked uncertainly.

"What do you think it said?"

He took a thick envelope out of his pocket and whipped it violently at me, hitting me in the chest. Malfoy stiffened and looked up from his book.

Saying nothing, I peeled open the envelope and scanned the parchment inside. _Divorce … final ... your mother will keep the house … choose who to see for Easter … not your fault … give your sister love …_

"Is this true?" I managed to ask as I looked up at him. The bubble of anguish was back in my throat.

"Well it makes sense doesn't it? After you straining their marriage for years? Makes sense that they'd finally call it quits."

"I … I didn't…"

"Yeah, you'd like to think that, wouldn't you? Heidi Zabini, master of ruining lives always likes to think that she had nothing to do with it. Well let me tell you something in case you didn't know: you suck the life out of absolutely everything. Dad even said—"

"Dad cheated," I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking. I was aware that other heads were turning to us now, including those of the third-years waiting for the classroom beside ours to open up. "Dad cheated and it is not my _—_ "

"Being related to you is a damn full time job. Every day it's something else, isn't it? A new mess that all of us have to clean up. A new rumour because you can't keep your big mouth shut. A new article in the Prophet because you find it impossible to—"

"I didn't mean for—"

"You never do mean it, do you? Except I'm starting to think you do. If you ask me, you like the attention," he spat.

I shook my head.

"No, Blaise. I _really_ hate—"

"Oh? Is that why you told THE ENTIRE FUCKING WIZARDING COMMUNITY—"

Malfoy stepped out of my peripheral vision.

"Blaise, ease the hell up—"

"—THAT HE WAS CHEATING ON OUR MOTHER. IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR _FUCKING_ BALLROOM—"

I could see tiny beads of sweat glistening on my brother's forehead as he screamed at me. The red blotches on his face. The demented look in his brown eyes. God, he must have wanted to get this out for so, _so_ long.

"Don't yell at her like that!" snarled Malfoy, pushing him back from me with his arm. I snapped out of my trance.

"What did you just say?" asked Blaise, panting slightly as he adjusted his tie. The demented look was replaced by one of confusion, and I have no doubts that the same expression was planted firmly on my own face.

"Was I unclear? It's not your sister's fault your father couldn't keep it in his shorts."

Far from subduing him, it caused a new look of fury to storm over my brother's face.

"I wouldn't speak about fathers right now if I were you, Malfoy. Or mothers."

"Blaise, _don't_ ," I warned, finally finding my footing.

"No, Zabini, go on," Malfoy dared. I was shocked to find that, for once in my life, I wasn't the Zabini he was threatening.

Blaise shrugged coldly.

"Not much else to say, is there? I'm sure you know what I mean. You can put your mother in the fanciest room in all of St. Mungo's, can't you? But it's still rehab, Malfoy. Peasant's stuff. Low, dirty habits—"

"Blaise!" I gasped, disgusted.

"And let's just say this: our father might not be Old Money like yours, but he never did have to piss on the floor of a prison cell in the—"

Malfoy didn't wait for Blaise to finish his musings; he charged at him immediately, smashing him backwards into the stone wall by classroom 4E, his grip on the collar of Blaise's shirt. I could feel my eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"MALFOY, DON'T—"

But Blaise wasn't victim for long, and managed to head-butt him with such force that it sent Malfoy backwards. For far too long it was punches and thuds and wands forgotten, leaving me to look around desperately and wonder why the hell nobody was doing anything. Padma had a hand over her mouth. Wayne Hopkins and Hannah Abbott were creeping backwards into the crowd of third-years, all of whom were staring slack-jawed at the scene unfolding. Anthony was looking on in disbelief and … was that a glimmer of satisfaction?

"Blaise, stop punching him!" I yelled, throwing my bag down on the ground. Where the hell was Tonks? I stepped into the space that the two had cleared out by scaring everyone around, and grabbed Malfoy's arm just as he wound it back. He shook me off with ease and managed to sink his fist into my brother's stomach before I latched onto him again.

"Stop it! I said stop it, Malfoy!" I ordered.

"Zabini, let go—"

"I WILL NOT LET GO! I SAID STOP IT!"

He tried to get rid of me, but I was hanging onto his arm with all my might, reminding myself of a tiny terrier trying to subdue an intruder by dangling off his leg. He jerked me roughly backwards, freeing himself from my grip.

_Crack._

It was my brother's fist that hit me. The metallic taste was unmistakeable and familiar, but the pain was like nothing I had ever felt. My hands flew to my nose, trapping the hot blood that had begun to gush out of it.

"FUCKING CHRIST, BLAISE!" roared Malfoy. They both sank to their knees beside me, looking frantic.

"SHE GOT IN THE MIDDLE! HEIDI, WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINK—"

"Don't yell at her!" commanded Malfoy, before turning back to me. Tears pricked at my eyes as the pain grew and grew. "Zabini, move your hands."

I shook my head wordlessly, affording only a whimper.

"Do what he said!" snapped Blaise, grabbing at my blood-covered hands in an attempt to un-cup them from around my face. I yelped as he shoved my palm into the injury in his frantic tries to get me to cooperate. He threw his hands up in the air. "I quit."

It was only Malfoy that remained now, parked on the floor in front of me, his face inches from mine. I could make out the tiny flecks of blue in his irises again.

"Zabini, listen to me: you have to take your hands off your face. More likely than anything it's completely fine, but I have to make sure just in case."

I shook my head again. He lowered his voice to a whisper hardly louder than a breath.

"Zab — Heidi."

I stiffened, trying to make sure I hadn't misheard him.

"Heidi, I promise that if you move your hands I won't do anything to scare you. I just need to see."

"Ib broken!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes impatiently.

"It isn't broken, Zabini, it's just a little bit of blood. C'mon, show me."

I bit into my lip as I slowly — ever-so-slowly — brought my hands down from my face. He drew a sharp breath of air in through his teeth, and I could tell, despite the fact that his standard complexion was that of a ghost, that he'd grown drastically paler.

"Ib id bad?" I managed to blubber out. Silence. "Oh by gob!" I sobbed as I brought my hands back to my face.

He hoisted me up by the shoulders.

"Alright, we're going to Pomf—"

"What _on earth_ is going on here!" came the unmistakeable voice of Tonks. Anthony was standing to her right, and I realized that it was he who'd gone to fetch her. "Blaise? Draco? What's this I hear about — _Heidi?_ "

"She needs the hospital wing," said Blaise. "She got punched in the face by accident."

"Yeah, by _you_ ," said Terry.

Tonks took me aside to look at the damage.

"Oh boy. That's not a good look for you, Heidi, is it?" she said with a half-smile. "Don't worry. Madam Pomfrey's dealt with much worse." She turned to the three boys that were dawdling a few steps behind her, two of which, I was satisfied to see, were looking somewhat ashamed.

"Alright, Draco, take her to the hospital wing. Not much use to today's lesson without a partner. Blaise, you are most certainly going to explain yourself — as are you when you return, Draco — and Anthony, ten points to Ravenclaw for fetching me."

"What are you awarding him points for, he—"

" _Twenty_ from Slytherin," she said to Blaise, who was standing cross-armed. "And that's just from you."

Malfoy sighed and took me by the arm, clearly not wanting to stick around and incur another loss of points. "C'mon, before you bleed out."

"I'b sobby, Balfoy," I said as he steered me out of the way of a stone column. "For bleebing ob you."

"Zabini, how about you express your sorrow for 'bleebing' on me after Pomfrey puts your nose back on your face, and for now you just focus on not walking into the wall? Don't look up, you're still bleeding."

I nodded gently and allowed him to keep guiding me, trying not to feel mortified as I counted all the pairs of shoes we passed. Did all of Hogwarts need to see this?

"I'b so ugly!" I exclaimed as I broke his rule and caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a suit of armour we passed.

"Oh would you relax? Pomfrey'll fix it in less than ten minutes," he said impatiently.

"Okay," I mumbled, disheartened.

"Then you'll only be ugly to me."

I presumed there was a smirk accompanying this sentence, but I was in too much pain to look.

"Through here, Zabini," he said and, as if on cue, Pomfrey's voice rang out.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Not you two again," she exclaimed as she scurried over to us. "Would you leave each other alone for but _one_ school year?" Madam Pomfrey gently moved my hands from my face and gasped. "Mr. Malfoy!" she admonished as she led me to a bed.

"I didn't do that to her!" he snapped. "I don't hit girls!"

"Well you certainly don't hesitate to hex them if your past records are any indication," said Pomfrey, and I knew, had she been anybody else, that he would have vehemently tried to explain the difference.

"He dib't do id," I said, trying and failing to enunciate my words. The pain had turned into a relentless sort of throbbing.

"Shush now, dear. Talking makes it worse, as with most things. Now, it's a very mundane injury, this broken nose business. No magic involved—"

"To fix it?" asked Malfoy in surprise.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, to _cause_ it. Of course I will be using magic to fix it! And don't interrupt me!" She looked back down at me. "How's your pain tolerance, dear?"

"She doesn't have one," drawled Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey looked at him for a second time and tisked in displeasure.

"Your services are no longer required, Mr. Malfoy. You can go on back to class now."

"No!" I gasped. Malfoy looked down at me, eyebrow raised. "Dob't leabe," I said more confidently.

Madam Pomfrey drew her eyebrows together at this unlikely request.

"Er … very well. Then make yourself useful, Mr. Malfoy, and keep an eye on her while I gather a few things."

Malfoy plucked some tissues from a nearby box and handed them to me before sitting down beside me on the hospital bed, arms crossed. I wiped some of the blood off my hands and tried to think of logical ways to explain why I had so desperately cried out for Malfoy. Perhaps I was concussed from the impact.

"I—"

"You heard what she said, Zabini. No talking."

Pomfrey returned with only her wand and a small tin of paste, which led me to erroneously believe that this would be minor and — most importantly — painless.

"Now, I do have to warn you that this numbing cream can put you out of commission for the day, especially when it comes to non-magical injuries. You see it—"

"I dob't neeb id," I said resolutely.

Malfoy snorted.

"Zabini, you most definitely _do_ need it. You have maybe the worst pain tolerance I've ever seen in a human—"

I shook my head even more stubbornly.

"No. No neeb."

Madam Pomfrey put the lid back on the tin, looking lost.

"Alright, Pumpkin, I understand. Not everybody wants to lose the whole day over a silly little injury like this. But perhaps it would help if you were to grip—"

My hand shot out and wrapped around Malfoy's, nails resting on the back of it, ready to dig in.

"—something. Well, alright. Looks like we're set then. On the count of three: one … two … three … _Episkey!_ "

I squeezed Malfoy's hand with all my might as my nose cracked sickeningly into place. He had been right: this was horrible and I was not cut out for it.

"Zabini, you're drawing blood!" exclaimed Malfoy.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I said in a rush as the pain was overtaken by a hot, tingling sensation all over my face. As quickly as it had come, it went. Malfoy moved his hand out from under mine to nurse the bleeding, nail-sized dents in it.

"Alright, dear, it's quite over. I'll just do a quick little clean-up of the blood. _Tergeo!_ "

I could feel the crusted area between my nose and mouth grow small, and then disappear.

"You too, Mr. Malfoy. _Tergeo!_ "

The remnants of my nosebleed disappeared off his school uniform. Madam Pomfrey glanced at a grandfather clock by the wall.

"I suppose there's no sense sending you to class now. I'll write you two a note excusing you until the next one."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"I have never met two siblings in my life more eager to punch a face than you two," muttered Malfoy as we left the hospital wing, a note in each of our hands.

"I think it's the Italian in us," I admitted sheepishly.

Malfoy snorted.

"I think it's the demons in you. So explain to me what you were hoping to achieve by jumping into the middle of a fight between two guys twice your size?" he asked.

"You know, I don't think I really had an outcome planned," I said.

Malfoy stared down at me.

"Well you certainly got an outcome anyway, didn't you? Have you learned your lesson yet, Zabini? About meddling? Or do you have to actually die in order for that to hit home?"

I blinked, bewildered.

"Malfoy, he was about to punch the lights out of you!"

Malfoy scowled darkly.

"I'd have thrown him down if you hadn't—"

"I didn't spend hours in the library learning to heal you, only to have you get all beaten up again!" I exclaimed.

"Did I ask you to? You do this crap all of your own volition, and then somehow, I'm the one to get blamed when—"

"You were scared, weren't you?" I asked, feeling quite brazen all of a sudden. "You were scared I was hurt worse than I was."

"Zabini, I have to say, that punch to the head left you with quite the imagination," he said.

"I saw your face when you realized what happened. You went white as snow. Don't try to deny it, Malfoy; I was only a breath away from you. I could see it."

He swallowed, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"It's okay, I'm not judging you; I'm just glad you get that feeling, too. I thought I was the only one of us ready to puke when seeing breaks and bruises on the other. I'm glad I'm not."

"Zabini—"

"It's fine, Malfoy. I know we're not friends, and I …" I chewed the inside of my cheek as I looked at him. "I think I'm coming to realize that I prefer that."


	32. A Few Propositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you all had a wonderful week. If you can believe it, I still have two exams to write (thankfully, I finished both my 7.5k word papers. Phew). After that, I’m hoping to get a decent chunk of writing done in advance since the holiday season can get a bit hectic too.   
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, and continue to leave your thoughts!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

My friends' heads shot up as I entered the common room later that day to change after my last class.

"Merlin, Heidi, there you are! " exclaimed Ron, looking up from a Quidditch diagram that he and Harry were huddled around. "We heard what happened earlier; that git's off his bloody rocker!"

"Yeah, what else is new," I said with a sigh as I sat down next to Hermione's armchair.

"But you _are_ alright, right? I mean, breaking a bone is a pretty big deal. In the muggle world it wouldn't heal for weeks," she said.

I waved her concerns away.

"I'm fine, Hermione, don't worry! Pomfrey's really good."

"Ginny says she saw you and Malfoy in the hallway by the hospital wing on her way to class," she said. "I can't believe it."

"Me neither, honestly."

I was frankly still shocked that he hadn't left me to bleed out.

"I'm with Hermione on this one. I mean, even leaving aside the fact that he's a bigger prat than most and that he has a history of hexing you at every opportunity, this whole chain of events is insane," said Harry.

"I know. I can't get over the fact that he was telling my brother to go easy on—"

"I mean, duelling you is one thing but for him to actually _punch_ _you_ in the face?"

I blinked. "Excuse me, what?"

"You need to go to Professor McGonagall with this at the very least, Heidi," insisted Hermione. "It is absolutely unacceptable that he gets away with this."

"Malfoy didn't punch me!" I said with a shocked laugh. "He brought me to the hospital wing! Blaise was the one that punched me!"

"Your own brother punched you in the face?" asked Ron, his face screwed up in confusion and distaste. "I mean… Gin can drive me mental sometimes, but I'd never—"

"It was an accident! He was fighting Malfoy and I got in the middle trying to break it up. Blaise swung and missed. Malfoy was actually really …" _Kind_. "Professional about it."

"Professional?" snorted Ron. "What exactly is his profession? Full-time wanker?"

"There are standards for Healers, you know!" I snapped. "Appropriate habits that we have to learn, like how to calm the person down and how to deliver help. That's what he did!"

"So when he brought you to the hospital wing, he was doing it because he was trying to _help_ you?" asked Hermione.

"Well I don't think you take people to the hospital wing to try and harm them, do you?" I said irately. "It'd be a bit inefficient, you know, with all the medical attention that tends to be administered there."

"Yes, I know that!" snapped Hermione. "I just thought he was trying to get out of detention or something. I mean even Snape would give at least some sort of punishment for something like that."

"Are you kidding me? Snape _gave_ him house points last year for pushing me into a cauldron. And anyway, on what planet does Malfoy turn himself in after doing something immoral?"

"What, like him taking you to the Hospital Wing out of common decency makes any more sense? You're telling us he's suddenly found a conscience?" asked Ron.

"Well, I … I don't think it was sudden. But at any rate, he shouldn't be penalized for doing the right thing for once in his life, should he? Who's telling everybody that he broke my nose? Was it Ginny?" I asked.

"Of course not," said Harry. "She came up to us asking if we knew what happened."

"Great. He's going to kill me for this," I grumbled. "This is why people turn to a life of crime, you know."

"I mean, it might not even be going around the school," said Hermione. "I was the one that sort of jumped to the conclusion. Anthony mentioned that Malfoy caused you to get injured, so I thought he meant … you know." She did a half-hearted imitation of a punch to the face.

I groaned and sank further down my armchair.

"Why was he fighting Blaise in the first place, anyway? I thought they were friends?" Hermione said.

"Blaise got in Malfoy's face, talking out of his arse about his personal business. I'd have fought him too, honestly."

"What sort of personal business?" asked Harry.

"His mother being in rehab, for one! I mean who uses that against a person? It's disgusting," I said.

"So Malfoy insulted him first, then? To make him bring that up?" suggested Hermione.

"No, Malfoy was just trying to get him to stop going off on me."

The trio exchanged glances.

"Yes, I know how it sounds!" I snapped. "It's a long story."

"Heidi, I think it's time you tell it. Especially with …" Hermione gave me a nudging look.

"With what?"

"You know, with where you went with him."

"Where'd she go with him?" asked Ron, looking wildly between Hermione and I. Hermione raised her eyebrows pointedly at me.

I sighed. There was no getting out of it.

"I went with him to Azkaban to see his father about two and a half months ago."

"And you didn't tell us this!" exclaimed Harry, looking betrayed.

"I didn't think it was appropriate to. It was personal."

"It's _Malfoy,_ " Harry snarled.

"He's still a person!" I said hotly.

I looked around the common room, feeling uncomfortable. Harry's rising tones were getting the attention of our fellow Gryffindors, and, contrary to Blaise's convictions, I would have rather died than gotten any more of it.

"How could you not tell us something like this? His father's on the loose now!"

"What do you think I did, set him free? It was a family visit, Harry! Dumbledore asked me to go along with Malfoy to make sure no one slipped up and killed him! I thought his father was getting the Kiss that day; I obviously didn't think he'd make it out."

"I don't understand. Why would Dumbledore send you along with Malfoy?" asked Hermione.

"Because he wanted to give me a final chance for closure; you know, after our _moment_ at the Ministry last year. If you ask me, I'd have rather stayed in bed that day — at least then I wouldn't have insomnia half the bloody time. It was horrible in that prison."

Harry shook his head.

"It still doesn't make sense. You're telling me Malfoy visits his father, and on the same day, Lucius suddenly escapes Azkaban? No. I don't believe it for a damn second. You should have told us you had gone, or spoken to an Auror about it!"

"Spoken to an Auror about what? I already told you, Harry, it was a standard visit — not to mention one Dumbledore knew about. I didn't see anything unusual the whole time I was there, besides a shred of humanity in Malfoy that he prefers I not talk about."

"So we're back to Malfoy's humanity now, are we?"

I threw my hands up.

"What do you want me to say, Harry? That he isn't a human being? I felt bad for him in that prison, alright? He asked me not to discuss it with anybody so I didn't."

"You're talking about him like he gives a damn about anybody other than himself!" exploded Harry. "If the situation was reversed and he had dirt on you, he would _never_ extend the sort of respect you're extending to him! He'd have told all his stupid friends by now just for the sport of it. But we actually need to know things like this; this pertains to something bigger than you, Heidi. They _killed_ Sirius."

"Yes, I know what they did. I was there," I said coldly.

"Describe it," said Hermione.

I turned to her in confusion.

"What?"

"Describe that day in Azkaban, from beginning to end; everything you remember, as chronologically as possible."

I was at a loss.

"I … well, alright."

I recounted everything that I remembered from the carriage ride, to the nightmare I had on the train, to Frank Kerrigan, and finally to the moment that I had blacked out.

"That doesn't sound right, Heidi," remarked Hermione once I had finished.

"What? That Malfoy dragged me out of there?" I asked.

"No — the way you blacked out. I don't think it was the Dementors. I think somebody hexed you."

"How could it be that, though? The place was swarming with Dementors. I remember the feeling as all that stuff flashed through my brain; just complete and utter dread."

"Yes, but Dementors don't leave you out for that long. Even with Harry…"

"It was only ever a few minutes with me," he said.

Hermione nodded, and looked back at me intently.

"Are you sure nobody could have… could Malfoy have…?"

"No," I said firmly.

"Well, you wouldn't know, would you? You were out the whole time," said Ron. "It's exactly the sort of thing he'd do, the slimy git."

"He wouldn't do that. Not to…" I swallowed, trying to think of a plausible reason for a Death Eater, who I am fairly certain despised me at the time, to refrain from knocking me out. "Not to me."

But even as I said it, I could feel the uncertainty surrounding my words. I grabbed my bag.

"Heidi, where are you—"

"I have to go," I said hurriedly.

"We're not done—"

"We'll talk later," I promised over my shoulder as I closed the entrance behind me.

I sprinted all the way to the seventh floor without stopping to nurse the stitch in my side, and burst into the Room of Requirement like a cannonball.

"Malfoy, are you in here? I need to ask you some—"

I froze and looked around. I had stepped into a very different looking Room of Requirement indeed; the usually exposed windows had been covered in drapes, and candles of various sizes had been set up to light the way instead. A pleasant flowery aroma wafted into my nose. I blinked. Surely he hadn't caught on to my meaning earlier and decided to do something romantic about it…

"There you are, Zabini," Malfoy said slowly as he rose up from an armchair I hadn't noticed him occupying. "I'm frankly not sure I could have waited another minute. In fact, I don't think I could have lasted another second without asking what it is I have to ask you."

_A little intense, but we can work with it._

"Er… alright?"

I took a few steps in the direction of my usual sofa. He held up a hand.

"You can sit later, Zabini. I think we need to do this one standing — it's rather important, you see."

I stopped and allowed him to get to me, feeling more and more nervous with each of his long-legged strides. With every step he took, I took one backwards, until there was simply nowhere left to go but through the wall itself.

Malfoy looked down at me and smiled charmingly, as if he was looking at something deeply welcome.

"Would you say we've made progress this year, Zabini? In our — well, we don't want to call it a friendship, do we? So I guess we'll call it a relationship. Would you say we've made progress in our relationship?"

I stared up at him.

"Yes?"

Malfoy nodded in agreement.

"Yeah. Yeah, Zabini, I reckon so as well. I was reflecting on this earlier, and realized that by this time last year, you'd have already been on top of me at least three times, trying and failing to punch me unconscious. This year, I'm mildly disappointed to say, you haven't been on top of me once."

I could feel my eyebrows shoot up as I tried to go through an extreme set of mental gymnastics to fit this information together, and while I did so, I found his fingers gently creeping their way up my arm.

"Malfoy, what are you…"

"I have a few propositions to run by you, to make sure we're on the same page. We've been talking in circles for a while, you see, and I'm finding myself really lacking the time for it."

I swallowed nervously.

"A-alright."

His fingers were tracing the collar of my shirt now, leaving me hyper-attentive to their trail. They only had to slip a few inches and it would be a different conversation altogether…

"Do you accept the fact that we've grown more important to one another this year, Zabini?"

I nodded. Easy enough.

"Have I confided in you this year more than I've confided in my own friends? With things I never thought I could voice to anybody?"

I nodded again, determined not to break eye contact. His fingers danced from one collarbone to the other and I had to try very hard not to shudder at the touch.

"Do you agree with the fact that we've seen more of each other in four months than we've ever imagined we would? And by that, I mean figuratively — as in I've _voluntarily_ met with you at least three times a week — and literally, as in I've seen…"

His smirking gaze dropped downwards. I cringed.

"Do you really have to remind—"

Malfoy brought a hand gently to my lips. Before I could voice my displeasure at being shut up, be it sensually or not, he cut me off.

"Zabini, do you believe me when I tell you that I enjoyed at least some of that to a far greater degree than I ever thought possible for me?" he asked, dropping his hand from my mouth.

I cleared my parched throat.

"I … I guess if you … if you say so. Then yes, I believe you."

He smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I was hoping you would say that, Zabini, I really was… because it leaves me with just one last question for you."

Malfoy leaned down, lips barely touching my ear, breath bouncing off of it, doing impossible things to my brain. If he didn't hurry this up I'd probably be doing it for him. It was unbearable otherwise, having him this close with nothing coming of it.

"Are you ready for my question?" he breathed.

I nodded, my body leaning into his involuntarily as shivers ran through it.

"Why the fuck are you telling the whole school I punched you in the face?"

My eyes flew open. _What?_

Malfoy took a step back from me, and I wasn't sure if it was the set-up or the lack of follow-through that was the most infuriating.

"I haven't been telling the school anything! Why did you need to dramatically stroke me in order to ask me that?!" I spluttered. "And _why_ are you sitting by candlelight with all the drapes down, like some sort of super-villain?"

His expression turned into one of supreme annoyance and he pointed to a table housing our rather depressed looking Herbology project. I suddenly realized the source of the pleasant smell I had detected earlier.

"The plant can't be exposed to natural light, Zabini. Sprout only said it like twelve thousand times. Speaking of which, keep it in your room for tonight. I'm rather busy with other things."

"What other things?" I asked.

"That's none of your business, Zabini. It's got to do with my mother."

"Oh," I said, as I moved towards the sofa and set my bag down beside it. He picked it up and handed it back to me.

"I can't tonight."

"But you just said I could sit down after we talked! And anyway, I need to ask you about—"

"I did the difficult parts of the project for you already. All you have to do is keep the plant somewhere dark and watch for it crying. If it does, just give it a few drops out of the purple vial beside it. _A few._ And don't under any circumstances abandon it once it's started to cry or it'll destroy itself. It's rather like you that way," he added smugly.

"Alright, that's a little—"

"C'mon, Zabini, go. I really need to get started on this."

I tried not to look disappointed, but I must not have done a very good job because his mouth tugged upwards into a pleased smile.

"Tell you what: if you leave me alone today, I'll play with you on Friday," he offered.

"I don't want to play with you! I have other people to play with, Malfoy!" I snapped as I grabbed the plant and marched to the exit. "I'll play with myself if I have to," I mumbled darkly, slamming the door behind me and watching it disappear.

I put a hand over my chest to try and steady my heartbeat and took a series of deep breaths. What an absolute monster. Who did this sort of thing to a person?

Adjusting my shaky grip on our Herbology project, I set off for the dungeons to put it away. Halfway down the dungeon stairs, however, it began to give out little whimpers from under my arm. I sighed and stepped aside to pull out the purple vial I'd been instructed to use, determined that a Herbology project survive for once without the need for Malfoy's constant intervention.

"Shh!" I hissed as I tried to uncap the vial. The plant's whimpers were quickly turning into fully grown sobs. "You know, although I hate you, you're probably my most relatable homework to date."

It continued its deafening cries even as I added big drops of purple solution to it, and I had to actively fight the urge to pour the entire bottle on it.

"What're you so upset about anyway? You're only a plant," I scoffed, taking a seat on the stairs to wait out its depressive episode. "I mean, are _your_ parents getting a divorce? Did _you_ somehow manage to catch feelings for your arch-rival? No? Just me?"

I smirked at my cleverness, before a dreadful feeling rose up my body. Oh god. I really did have feelings for him, didn't I? I turned back to the plant.

"Okay, you can't tell anybody I said—"

"Heidi?" came a voice from the top of the stairs. I turned to look for the person calling out to me and groaned. It was Blaise.

He jogged down the steps.

"Why're you talking to the plant? We only need to give it drops, we don't actually have to talk to it."

"Well it beats talking to you, doesn't it?" I said bitterly.

Blaise put his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"Yeah, you better keep those in there," I grumbled. "I don't need a black eye either, thanks."

"Heidi, you know I didn't do it on purpose! C'mon, I wouldn't do _that._ "

"Wouldn't you?"

He exhaled sharply in frustration.

"No! Look, I … I think we need to talk."

I frowned at him. Blaise and I didn't talk. We fought, and we ignored each other. Any positive comments said to the other were only given through the grapevine, and even those instances had maybe happened thrice on both counts. But we certainly didn't _talk._

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked hesitantly.

"I dunno. Just … all of it."

I sighed and pointed to the plant, which was now cooing quite calmly.

"You can put it with mine. I've got Pansy checking on it. There's no sunshine in our common room, so it'll be fine there."

"I don't want to go to your common room, Blaise. I hate your common room," I said bluntly.

"Well what _don't_ you hate, Heidi? You hate everything!" he snapped. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, and you're making it fucking impossible! It's bad enough I've got those two on my back for what I did!"

"Who?" I asked.

"Pansy and Malfoy!" he snapped. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. At least I tried, so they can shove—"

"Okay," I interjected.

"Okay what?"

"Let's talk," I said.

 


	33. Imagined Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday break if you’ve got one. I’m actually travelling at the moment but I managed to sneak in some time and a good enough hotel wifi connection to bring an update. Hope you enjoy! Thanks as always for all the love, comments, and even just for taking the time to read!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"So are you going to do it?" I asked, growing rather tired of the sound of the clock filling our silences. It had been at least fourteen minutes and twenty-two seconds since we'd entered the empty fifth floor classroom, and it was precisely that much time ago that the air had first filled with the pervasive, stale awkwardness that was encompassing us now.

"Do what?" my brother asked. He was sitting on a desk beside mine, feet over the edge.

"Apologize."

"I'm not here to apologize," he said plainly.

I threw my hands up. "Then why the hell—"

"Fine. I am sorry for accidentally punching you in the face after you purposefully got in the middle of a perfectly good brawl," he said.

I couldn't help but gape at him. This was nearly — no, _exactly_ — the sort of response I would have expected out of a rather familiar blond.

"My god," I finally blurted. "It's like I left one just to run into another. No wonder Parkinson's got you both on her …" I bit my tongue.

"What?"

"What?" I repeated.

"You were saying something about Pansy just now."

"I was just commenting on her er … taste in friends. It's rather abysmal."

"What's that got to do with anything?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"If anything it's _my_ taste in friends that's bloody abysmal; with the way she chewed me out a few days ago, I could've just—"

"What? Punched her in the face?" I said innocently.

My brother rolled his eyes.

"What was she on you about, anyway?"

"Fighting Malfoy! Said I haven't been myself lately; that I seem 'angrier'."

"She's just worried about you, I think," I said, sounding infinitely more sage now that I was armed with inside knowledge.

"She's prying is what _I_ think. Nosy bitch."

"Blaise!" I gasped.

"What? It's true! And what do you care what I call her anyway? Thought you hated her guts."

"I mostly do," I admitted. "But I'm starting to sort of … appreciate some qualities."

"Have you been slipping my friends something?" he asked sharply.

"What do you mean?"

But Blaise's eyes were alight with the mystery he had seemingly just solved.

"That's it! That's got to be it," he said. "Go on then, which potion are you using? I won't tell Mum."

"You think I've been slipping your friends potions?" I asked.

"Well it only makes sense, doesn't it! You're all suddenly 'seeing the appeal' in each other. I mean what the hell is that? I don't even want to know what you've done to Malfoy. Fucking bastard stormed the room and just about threatened to kill me once he'd come back from the hospital wing."

A tingly, gleeful feeling ignited in my chest. So he did care…

"What're you grinning about? I have to share a bloody room with him! If I wake up to him trying to off me I'm going straight to you!" Blaise threatened.

"He's not going to try to kill you," I said with a casual wave.

"Well it's a fucking inconvenience all the same, innit! Lucky for all of us, I don't plan to make a habit of punching my sister out. Even if she does deserve it half the time."

"How kind," I bit.

"You do deserve it, Heidi! I mean, is it _ever_ going to stop?" said Blaise.

"What?"

"All this shit you do without thinking of the consequences! It puts the whole bloody family on edge!"

"Are you talking about what happened at Christmas?" I asked.

"I'm talking about everything: Christmas, the Ministry last year — all of it. It's got to end."

"What does the Ministry have to do with you?"

Blaise groaned and rubbed his temples.

"Have you not thought about what it was like for me at all?"

"For _you?_ "

"Yes, for me! Can you fucking imagine being woken up and told that your sister's in the hospital after infiltrating _the_ _fucking_ _Ministry of Magic_?"

"I imagine you were nothing short of thrilled," I said nonchalantly. "I mean you were that much closer to being an only child, just like you've always wanted."

"Listen to yourself, man! You're so selfish! Do you actually, seriously think I wasn't out of my mind that day?" he exclaimed. "And Mum … I don't even want to go there. She was beside herself."

"Then why didn't you visit me? If you were so 'horrified'?" I said, feeling like this was a point very much worth making.

"I did visit; you were out cold! You'd split your damn skull open, you moron!"

"Did you invite me here just to call me names?" I snapped.

Blaise clenched his jaw.

"I'm here to try and talk some sense into you like Pansy suggested, so that I won't have to scream at you in the corridor next time," he seethed. "Allegedly you've become 'somewhat sensible'."

I sighed and ripped some flaking purple polish off my nail.

"As for the Christmas thing? Yeah, I'm pissed. I'll admit it. It was a bad fucking timing to split the family apart, Heidi. A really bad time."

"You say it like I'm the reason they're getting divorced!" I snapped. "You keep blaming me, but he's been cheating for far longer than I've known about! _You're_ the one that knew."

"Who told you that?"

"Malfoy," I said simply.

"Seriously, what the _hell_ is going on between you two?" demanded Blaise. "Since when does Malfoy—"

"Relax, Blaise. He told me in a fight," I said.

"Still. It doesn't make any—"

"And what do you mean it's a 'bad time'? Is there such a thing as _good_ timing when it comes to your parents leaving each other?"

"Well if I had to pick a time to light the match, I wouldn't make it on the precipice of a war breaking out, would I?" he said gruffly. "I get why you did it but … fuck, Heidi. Our mother's all alone in that house now. Didn't you think about that? I don't even know what wards we have around it."

It felt like someone had taken a cold bucket of water and thrown it all over me.

"Yes but…why would anybody come after her?" I said, trying desperately to justify my oversight.

"Just look at what they did to Malfoy!" exclaimed Blaise. "They came for _his_ family, didn't they? They're in pieces now, scattered all over the place. Lucius is god knows where. His mother's in rehab. House is wrecked to bits. Dunno if you Gryffindors are aware of this, but they blew half the Manor up. Is that what you want for our family?"

"I know what they did," I said quietly, picking at a charred piece of the desk. "Of course it isn't what I want, Blaise, I just…"

"Can't help yourself? Yeah, we all know," he said. "How about you try to anyway?"

I sighed. My brother hopped off the desk.

"Alright, well … good talk," he said, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Beats our last encounter," I replied with a shrug.

He grinned and shook his head.

"You're messed up, you know that? Real messed up."

I smiled tentatively back.

"I've been told it's the demons in me."

"I dunno who said that to you," said Blaise as he held the door open for me, "But it sounds like they know you too well."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"No, really, Zabini: keep doing that. It's only the most _irritating_ thing I've ever encountered."

I looked up from the Charms textbook I'd been blankly staring into for the past twenty minutes. "Hm?"

Malfoy put his own textbook aside and pointed to my hand.

"You've been tapping that fucking ring against your teeth for what basically amounts to an eternity."

I looked down at Auntie Coraline's emerald ring in bemusement.

"Sorry, I … I hadn't noticed."

Malfoy sighed.

"What is it, then? What's upset you?"

"I'm not upset," I lied.

He responded with a snort.

"I'm not exactly keen on spending my Friday night sitting around and listening to you tap out the world's most dyspraxic rhythm on your mouth, so why don't you just cut this short and tell me who hurt you."

"Are you sure you want to go there, Malfoy? It's usually you."

"Is it me this time?" he asked.

"No," I admitted.

"How far we've come."

He strode over and sat down in the little space beside me on the sofa. I could feel my heart jump as our legs touched; he thankfully remained impervious to the goings on in my chest.

"Come on, Zabini, tell me. Is it Potter?"

I shook my head.

"Your father?" he asked.

"No, I haven't spoken to him in weeks. I mean he's been writing, but I just chuck the letters."

"Alright, so then…?"

He waited for me to fill the silence, eyes searching mine.

"It was something Blaise said," I finally told him.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, looking underwhelmed.

"Of course it was. And what genius insights did your brother offer you this time, pray tell?"

"He's just really angry with me because of what I did to my parents—"

"Zabini, how many times do I have to say it? You didn't do anything to your parents."

Malfoy had taken to reminding me of this every time I succumbed to my angst, and even though I didn't believe it, I thoroughly appreciated the attempt.

"Malfoy, I'm not stupid. I know what it's like for them to have me around. It's the same as what it's like for you."

"And what is it you think you know about my take on having you around?" he said.

"I know it's inconvenient, for one. Irritating. I'm always talking, remember? You said that to me on the train back from St. Mungo's. _'How is it you're always talking, Zabini'_."

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I do not sound even a little bit like that."

"Yes, well, the point stands," I said.

"Zabini if I hadn't had you around these past few months, I'd probably be dead by now."

I cast him what I hoped was a heavily skeptical look. "You don't have to make stuff up to make me feel better. It's very out of character for you, might I add," I said.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Are you saying you don't believe me?"

"Not particularly," I admitted.

Malfoy shrugged.

"Fine. Be stupid if you want."

"I will, thanks."

"So let's hear it then. What is this horrible truth your brother laid out for you?" he pressed.

"It's just that … well, with all the attacks, you know, on people's homes … it's just not a very good time for me to have gotten my parents to separate."

"You didn't get them to separate. They're adults, Zabini. They _chose_ to separate."

"Either way, whatever you call it, my Mum is completely alone in that massive house now. I just worry that …" I blushed as my voice broke slightly.

His hand ran over my knee, raising goosebumps on the skin.

"Trust me, nothing is going to happen to your mother," said Malfoy reassuringly.

I looked at him. He suddenly seemed so much closer.

"I just can't get the image of the Manor out of my head," I admitted. "The way they left it … I mean, what if one of you were in there?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"Don't think about that, Zabini. That was a completely different situation; it wasn't exactly a random attack."

"Wasn't it?"

"No. It was … there've been some — how do I put this — internal disagreements with regards to hierarchy, particularly after my father was sent to Azkaban."

"What do you mean, Malfoy?" I asked.

"I mean half of them generally hate my family as a whole and the other half are pissed I got to join at sixteen."

I frowned.

"Is this why Rowle—"

"Is that it, then? Is that all that's been bothering you?" he asked, dropping his hand from my leg. "Just talk to your Order lot, get them to set something up around your house if you're worried."

I knew that face. He was shutting me out again.

"No, I guess that isn't everything. But I can't really talk to you about the other thing," I said, turning away and picking my textbook back up. At least some sort of weight had been taken off my chest.

"Why?" Malfoy asked.

"What?"

"Why can't you tell me about the other thing?" he said.

_Because I'm fairly certain I want your horrible, smirking mouth on my mouth and I will take that to my grave._

"It's er … girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?" he repeated.

I scrambled for an answer that was as convincing as it was evasive.

"You know, relationship garbage."

"I thought you and Bootstein broke up?"

I groaned.

"For the last bloody time, it is Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein; they are _two separate people_ , Malfoy! I know you know that!"

"Either way, how can you have relationship problems if there's no bloke in sight?"

"You manage it just fine, Mr. Half-of-Hogwarts-is-Planning-to-Ask-Me-Out-On-Valentine's. I'd watch your coffee for love potion if I were you. Dangerous time of year coming up."

"That's different. They swarm me; I don't interact with them. But that can't be your issue, Zabini. There's no lineup to begin with."

My feelings must have translated to my face seamlessly, because a look of instant regret fell over his.

"Shit. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that—"

"It's fine. I know. 'Ugly, pointless Zabini'," I said.

"You aren't ugly," he said quickly. "You are _not_ ugly."

"Seriously, Malfoy. Don't worry about—"

"Are you listening to me? You're not ugly and you are _far_ from pointless, so don't even go there."

"I'm only quoting you!" I said in bemusement.

"I think we've long established that I've been out of my fucking mind for years now, Zabini. With many things."

"Such as?" I knew better than to get my hopes up, given his pattern of talking in riddles and cursing away kisses. And yet… "Are you saying you like me?" I blurted.

_Damn it, Heidi._

"You know, as a person," I added, backtracking ferociously and at all costs. "A general, nondescript person."

He scanned my eyes briefly then sighed, apparently having concluded something deeply inconvenient.

"Are you going to take a compliment if I inadvertently give you one during this conversation or are you going to piss me off instead?" he asked.

"I'm probably going to take it, but if our tumultuous history is any indication, I am also very likely going to piss you off," I said.

"Alright, Zabini, here goes: you have somehow become one of the most important people in my life. Don't ask me how, I don't know. And given the context of our … _past …_ I … I don't quite know what to do to make it up to you. I've been thinking about what I could do to fix some things but nothing's ever quite enough. Not to undo all of it."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What's 'all of it'?"

"Well, for example, I've been noticing these moments where you talk about yourself by repeating verbatim the terrible shit that I've been spewing at you all these years, and every time I hear it come out of your mouth I am honestly convinced that karma is taking the absolute piss out of me."

"What? Why?"

"Because, somehow, the last fucking things I now want you thinking about yourself are the ones that came out of my mouth when I was _thirteen_. Who'd have known?" he said angrily. "You seriously think I want you walking around Hogwarts thinking you look like a hag?"

"How should I know what you want?" I exclaimed.

"Not that!" he spat. "Christ, Zabini. I don't know what to do to convince you otherwise now; it's like it's a part of you. I'm sick of hearing you complain about your appearance every damn day! There is _nothing wrong with your appearance._ Nothing. Whoever thinks otherwise is clearly fucking blind."

I took a moment to let this truly unprecedented moment sink in.

"Really?" I said.

"Yes."

"You're not lying?"

"No."

"So what's your favourite part, then?" I asked.

"What?" Malfoy said.

"About my appearance."

" _What?"_

I shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hey, you said you wanted to fix it. I'm pretty sure the only way to un-insult somebody is by giving them compliments. I don't make the rules, I just live by them."

"Seriously, Zabini? You're going to make me _list_ the things I like about you?"

"You have a list?" I asked eagerly.

"It's not exactly long," said Malfoy dismissively.

"Wow. I really _am_ a hag." I sighed dramatically and picked up my textbook to try and hide my grinning face. "Though I guess Anthony did like some things about me. Or at least that's what he implied when he … well, you don't need to know about that. Like I said: it's girl stuff."

I peeked over the pages for his reaction, and sure enough, he was sitting frowning and cross-armed. I decided to push my luck just a tiny bit more.

"You know, on one of our dates he actually—"

"I like your eyes."

I could feel my eyebrows shoot up. "My eyes?"

"Yes, Zabini, _your eyes,_ " he seethed. "They're … I don't know. Expressive?"

"Expressive?"

"Comforting."

I must have been grinning ear to ear based on the level of discomfort on his face.

"Can we go back to work now, Zabini? I'd rather not get a T in Charms because of your incessant need to be complimented."

I nodded and obediently flipped open my textbook. I allowed a few silent minutes of pretend-study pass as I tried to think of where to go from here — if there _was_ anywhere to go.

"Hey, Malfoy?" I said.

"Hm?"

"I — I really like your eyes too."

His gaze flicked up from his book to analyze me.

I sat quietly as he did this, allowing him to draw whatever conclusions he wanted to, hoping only that they'd be the right ones. Suddenly, Malfoy closed his book.

"I'm going to bed."

I nodded, trying not to feel disappointed as he stood up. So that was that. I sighed barely-audibly and looked back down at my textbook, trying to absorb the proper way to do a blood-replenishing charm, when I suddenly felt it being gently taken from my hands.

"What are you—"

Malfoy ignored me, opting instead to take me by the hand and pull me up from the sofa.

"I can't without you, remember?" he murmured, and I noticed that instead of freeing my hand from his grip, he wove his fingers through mine.

"But what about—"

"We'll study tomorrow, Zabini. Twice as hard. That alright with you?"

I nodded slowly and followed him to our bed, feeling everything but tired. The routine remained the same despite the rather bizarre circumstances around it — we changed, blew out the candles, and took our sides of the bed. A curt goodnight. An even shorter response.

I was halfway through convincing myself that I'd been imagining intimacy again, when I felt his arm slip around my waist and pull me into him.

 


	34. Sectumsempra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! It’s back to school for me tomorrow sadly (for my very last semester!) But in the meantime, I’ve got another chapter for you. Let me know what you think! It’s certainly an important one, in my opinion. Thank you as alway for all your kind comments, and your general love and time. 
> 
> ~ Anna =)

February drifted in largely without incident, which was in all respects a pleasant change from the usual. Even Malfoy had taken it upon himself to be friendlier than normal, and I found myself thoroughly enjoying spending the evenings with him. The most notable occurrence, however, had been an announcement by McGonagall that two extra spots had opened up for a summer program at St. Mungo's alongside Anthony, who had already been selected. I slipped two forms in my bag — Malfoy having been absent from the class that day — and largely forgot about them until a week later, when she reminded us that they were soon due.

"Where would you choose to work then, Zabini?" asked Malfoy that evening as we sat on the couch doing schoolwork as always. I'd explained the program to him, and considered it a secret victory when he listened intently instead of brushing me off. Part one of the plan to rope him into it was working brilliantly.

"I'm not sure," I mused. "Maybe the Janus Thickey ward? It was nice to get to know the patients without having them rotate through so quickly."

Malfoy snorted. "The loony ward, you mean? I wouldn't go near it if they paid me."

"Well you'd get to give them a ranking of where you'd like to spend your time in the hospital," I said. "That way everyone gets set up to do something they're more or less alright with."

"Are we supposed to sit here and pretend you wouldn't put the tearoom at the top of the list?" he asked with a smile. I rolled my eyes.

" _No,_ Malfoy, I would not put the tearoom 'at the top of the list'."

"My apologies," he said.

"The tearoom would be second," I mumbled. "Plant poisonings would be dead last, though. So many rashes in so many horrifying places."

Malfoy's snicker evolved into a full-on laugh.

"So you'll apply with me, then?" I said eagerly as I dug around for a quill and a form. "I spoke to McGonagall, she's willing to give each of us a really good reference."

"Wait, you're serious?" he asked, the smile falling from his mouth. "You're actually coming to me with this seriously?"

"Why would I joke about this?" I said as I tried handing him an application form. He tossed it aside and went back to staring at me like I'd sprouted an extra head.

"How should I know why? I don't fucking know what goes on in that lunatic brain of yours!" he exclaimed.

"Malfoy, what are you—"

"You think I'm planning on spending my summer at St. Mungo's trailing you?"

"You don't have to trail me! We work by ourselves!" I said. "But we'd … you know … see each other for lunch every day and stuff. If we wanted."

"You want me to apply just so I can have _lunch_ with you?" he asked, as if it was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard.

"That's not what I said!" I snapped, feeling like I was losing a fight I hadn't even known I'd entered into.

"Then what do you want, Zabini? What is it you want? Because I'm starting to think that you want something from me that I just cannot give you right now!"

My breath stuck in my chest.

_He knows._

"I don't want anything from you, Malfoy! All I want is for you to be a little kinder—"

"I _am_ being kind! This is as kind as I know how to be, Zabini!"

"Well you're failing miserably, then, because all you ever do is shoot down any idea—"

"They're shit ideas!" he snarled.

"You know, you're the only one that ever rips me apart like this. Harry never does this. Ron never does this. Only you and your stupid friends have made it a hobby to dismantle everything I—"

"I am not Potter, and I am most _definitely_ not Weasley! I'm not going to sit around, and pat you on the head, and tell you you're right just to make you feel better. In fact, I would argue that that would be crueller than any malicious thing I've ever done to you."

"Is it that wrong, Malfoy?" I asked quietly. "Is it that wrong that I want to work with you this summer? That I … that I want to spend time with you?"

_Say yes. Tell me I'm an utter idiot. Tell me to snap out of it._

"Have you not been paying attention, Zabini? _This has nothing to do with wanting._ Nobody is asking me what I _want_ to do this summer; I don't get a vote. And while we're on the topic, how exactly do you think _this,_ " he pulled his left sleeve up his arm, "is going to go over with the screening committee at St. Mungo's? Think they'll let me through?"

"They let you in when we went," I pointed out weakly. "They didn't do any checks."

"For a few _days,_ Zabini. Not for a job. Salazar's pole, you are so out of touch right now. You really think I'll be working in some hospital in Britain after graduation next year, handing out Pepper-Up Potion alongside you and Goldstein in the children's ward?"

"What do you mean—"

"What's next? We all drink pumpkin juice out of mugs with inspirational quotes on them, and pat each other on the back for another day spent 'doing good'? I'd rather fucking die than turn into that, Zabini," Malfoy scoffed.

"Then why on earth are you even doing this program if you've got no intention of working at a hospital? I mean, what's the point of becoming a Healer if—"

"There are more practical applications of Healing in my life. Let's leave it at that, before I inevitably disappoint you further."

"Disappoint me? What do you mean disappoint me? And what do you mean by practical…" I stiffened, reality hitting me. "Hang on… are you doing this for _them?_ "

"Look, I told you, I don't want to—"

"You're learning all this magic — putting in _all of this effort_ — just so you can heal your dad's scummy friends at the end of the day?"

"Believe me, Zabini, those people are anything but his friends."

I could barely keep track of what he was saying. My head was swimming with the information he'd just offered.

"Well this just has to be the biggest _waste_ of potential I've _ever_ fucking heard of. No, really; this is the _stupidest—_ "

"Well it's a good thing your opinion ranks so highly with the Dark Lord, Zabini. Don't forget to let him know your feelings on the matter."

"Don't call him that," I snapped. "Only his followers call him that."

He moved once more to push his sleeve up, but I stopped him. I hated looking at that thing.

"It's different. You were forced, Malfoy. It's not the same."

"It's exactly the same, whether you admit it to yourself or not. And the next time you give me those sad, pity-filled eyes, why don't you ask yourself what _you've_ done to make good on your promise? Because if I recall correctly you said you'd help me — and so far, Zabini, you haven't done a damn thing."

"I—" I broke off. He was right. Aside from healing a few bruises and spending a few nights, I'd come no closer to helping him. "I'll think of something."

"Yes, good luck with that," he drawled. "In the meantime, why don't you run along and give Goldstein one of those forms. I'm sure he'd love to follow you around all summer, rubbing ointment on everybody's rash."

"He's already secured a placement," I snapped. "Ages ago, before they opened up the other spots."

"Of course he has. Bet he did it in secret, too. Bloody Ravenclaws; always clambering over everyone to kiss arse."

"If anything that's what Slytherins — look, forget it! I'm not having this conversation. You're being pathetic," I said.

"I'm being pathetic? _I_ am being pathetic?"

"You're completely wasting your potential, and what's worse is that you seem eager to do it. So yeah, I reckon it's quite pathetic."

"At least I'm being realistic, Zabini. At least I _know_ where I stand."

"Which is where exactly?"

"Not with fucking Goldstein in St. Mungo's," he said.

"Not with me you mean," I corrected him.

"Oh piss off, Zabini. You're not exactly crossing over to my side, are you? Why is it only me that has to make sacrifices?"

"You don't think I've made sacrifices? You think that my entire group of friends isn't _on my back_ right now about the amount of time I spend with you? Defending you? You think breaking up with Anthony wasn't a _sacrifice?_ "

"I didn't ask you to break up with Goldstein. Don't blame me just because he wasn't doing it for you."

"He most certainly _was_ 'doing it for me', you absolute wanker! But I knew that I already made promises to you that I had to keep." Angry and thoroughly embarrassed, I shoved the discarded form back into my bag. "I suppose it's better this way," I said tersely. "Best to leave the spot open for someone who doesn't want to screw their life away. You'd only be wasting space."

"Yeah, that's me. Big waste of fucking space," he drawled. He glanced at his wristwatch, whose hands probably pointed to an ungodly hour. "How is it I've managed to allow you to stick to me for five hours tonight? Surely I'm not the only man in Hogwarts you could impose yourself on at this fine hour."

" _Impose myself on?_ Who was it that was telling me just a few hours ago when I tried to go hang out with my friends that they needed help with homework?"

"Does helping me with homework really need to involve staring lustfully at me as I write?"

My cheeks ignited with mortification.

" _Lustfully?_ " I spluttered, fairly certain that lust was the last feeling I was able to convey properly to the outside world.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? _I'm sitting directly beside you, Zabini_. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought you wanted to jump my bones all evening."

If ever there was a time to panic in the way only a sixteen year old girl with secret, inconvenient feelings could, it would be now.

"Wow, Malfoy. That's a new level of ego-driven delusion, even for you," I exclaimed, trying to appear casual.

"Is it?" he asked calmly.

"Yes," I snapped, gathering my belongings.

"Good."

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If he'd thought that I would sleep off my fury, he'd thought wrong. Despite taking the high road the night before by refraining from strangling him, I highly doubted it was lustful glances that I had been sending when sitting next to Malfoy in class the next day. Malfoy, to his credit, had not brought up our row once, and I was fairly certain that was the only thing that stood between me and a well-aimed hex.

"Zabini, about last night…"

I mentally cursed. He just had to, didn't he? We'd made it all the way to our last class, and he just _had_ to infuriate me again.

"Zabini, I—" He looked down at his hands, and, despite having spent years of my childhood wishing that Draco Malfoy would apologize just _once_ , I suddenly felt like I didn't want to hear any of what he had to say.

"Hurry up and cast the spell so I can mark down the result. McGonagall won't let us go otherwise."

Looking confused, he picked up his wand and aimed it at the dragon skull we'd been trying to transfigure into that of a monkey. He'd been successful two out of four times so far, and he needed one more to grant us our freedom to leave.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, looking up from Hannah Abbott's table. "You see Miss Abbott? It's all in the grip. You've got to loosen it enough that the wand has room to roll through your fingers — without dropping it, of course."

Somewhere behind us came the unmistakeable sound of cracking bones.

"Too loose, Mr. Zabini," said McGonagall, without bothering to look up from Hannah's somewhat deformed monkey skull.

"I want to talk," muttered Malfoy.

"Good for you, then," I replied without looking up from my schoolbag, my attention fixated on rooting around for a better quill.

"I'm serious, Zabini. After dinner, in our room."

"No," I said.

"Why?" he asked, the frustration unmistakeable.

I turned to him stubbornly.

"Because I don't want to, Malfoy."

"Why?" he repeated.

"I have plans."

"To do what?"

"To impose myself on innocent victims," I said sarcastically. "There's a swarm of desperate-looking Hufflepuff blokes I've got my lustful eyes on."

"If you would just let me explain—"

"If you would just stop doing shitty things that require an explanation later!" I snapped.

"I am _trying_ to—"

"For any of you with application forms for the St. Mungo's summer program, please leave them in a stack on my table," said McGonagall from the front of the room. "Otherwise, you are free to enjoy your afternoon."

Casting Malfoy a pointed glare, I pushed my chair back and strode to the front of the room to hand my form in, alongside Padma, Hannah and Terry. Anthony flashed me a smile. I grinned back and returned to my table to grab my bag, only to find that Malfoy had already left. A tiny twinge of guilt ran through me.

"I really hope you get it," said Anthony, joining me on my way out of class.

"I'd really like to. Competition's not that stiff if it's only us applying, I suppose."

"Oh, it's open to all the magical schools. I know a few from Ilvermorny and Beauxbatons are applying too. My cousins in America told me. "

"Oh. Don't they have hospitals there?"

"None that are open to sixth and seventh years. St. Mungo's has a really good reputation around the world, see. You do a summer there and you're looking pretty good for all the hospital programs at home that only accept graduates. Double bonus for us, of course, since we actually want to stay and work there."

"Right," I said, suddenly feeling a lot less confident.

"Listen, I can tell you from my interview that—"

"There's an interview?" I asked.

Anthony nodded, looking confused. "Course there is."

"Right. Go on."

"I can tell you that they really liked me doing volunteer hours at the hospital wing here. You should ask Madam Pomfrey — she could always use the help."

"That's a brilliant idea, Anthony!" I said, shocked that I had never thought of it.

Anthony smiled.

"Are you busy after dinner tonight?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Want to hang out? You know, as friends?"

"As long as you don't accuse me of imposing myself on you later," I remarked.

"What?"

"Never mind. It's er … an inside joke."

"Okay. I'll meet you by the entrance hall?" Anthony said. I nodded.

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"Have you seen Harry?" Hermione asked me a few hours later in our dorm.

I rooted through my wardrobe for something that sent an aura somewhere between my jumper with the cat on it and Pansy's cleavage-causing cocktail dress.

"No, why?"

"He didn't come to dinner."

I pulled out a white top with lace sleeves. Good enough.

"I'm sure he's just busy, Hermione," I assured her. "Don't they have that Defence Against the Dark Arts test coming up? He's probably just off practicing."

"Does that sound anything like Harry Potter? He didn't start preparing for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament until just about the night before," she said somewhat shrilly.

I paused in my search for a pair of jeans and emerged from the wardrobe that I'd half-crawled into.

"Hermione, what's going on? Why are you so worried?"

"He's … he's not himself this year. He's become so stubborn, Heidi," she said.

"We're all stubborn. We're Gryffindors, aren't we?"

Hermione shook her head.

"You're not around enough anymore to see it. He's become obsessed with catching them."

"Who?"

"Death Eaters. You-Know Who. The whole lot. It's all he thinks about," said Hermione miserably.

"I can't exactly blame him," I admitted.

"Nor can I, but he's starting to see them where they don't exist. This Malfoy thing for instance—"

"What Malfoy thing?" I interjected a little more quickly than I should have.

"He's absolutely convinced Malfoy's a Death Eater! It's ridiculous!" exclaimed Hermione. "Even Ron's being more reasonable. I love Ron, of course, but I never thought I'd get to call him the sober-headed one."

"Have you thought to check the map to see where he is?" I asked. I suddenly felt quite uneasy.

Hermione groaned.

"I'm so stupid! Do you know where he keeps it?" she asked me.

"Why would I know?" I said. "Ask Ron, he probably does."

"Ron went off with Seamus and Dean. Apparently Harry was supposed to go hang out with them but none of them could find him."

"Ah."

"Would you go into their room with me?" Hermione pleaded.

I cringed. "Hermione, I don't know … it's so awkward. What are we going to tell them if one of them's in there?"

"There's nobody to tell; all the boys are gone. Neville's with Luna in the library, and the rest are out together. Please? It'll go quicker if we both look for it."

I sighed and nodded.

"Let me change first. I'm meeting Anthony soon and I'd rather not wear the skirt I spilled eel blood on in Potions today."

Minutes later, feeling significantly fresher, I followed Hermione into the boys' dorm.

"Check his trunk," I suggested as I pushed back the red curtains over his bed. "Never mind. It's by his pillow." I grabbed the piece of parchment and handed it to Hermione. "That was quicker than I thought it would be."

"He's been tracking Malfoy again, I bet," Hermione muttered. "Ron said he's been doing it nightly."

I could feel the blood drain out of my face. "Wh-what?"

"He never finds anything, of course. Most of the time Malfoy's either in class, with the Slytherins, or he's studying with you." Hermione paused, looking mildly put off. "It disgusts me that I even know that." She put her wand over the map and muttered 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good' until ink began to seep through the parchment.

We scanned each level of the castle, finding Ron with Dean and Seamus as promised, Snape in his office, and Blaise in his dorm. No one seemed to be where they shouldn't except a couple of seventh years who appeared to be in a compromising position in one of the broom closets.

"There!" exclaimed Hermione as she pointed to a hallway on the seventh floor. I leaned in to get a better look.

_Shit._

He was a few feet from the Room of Requirement, sitting on a bench.

"I guess he's fine," muttered Hermione, looking relieved. "I'm sorry I worried you, Heidi. I'm just a little on edge these days."

I forced a smile despite the quickly building knot in my stomach. Was he there because he knew Malfoy was likely to be up there, in the Room? Was he waiting to ambush him? Or was he just trying to get into the Room to use it himself, out of habit from last year?

Perhaps he wasn't there for the Room of Requirement at all, and was simply there to spend some time alone like I had done many, many times over the past couple of years.

"Alright, well," I said tensely, getting up from Harry's bed. "I'd better go finish getting ready."

But as I stood before a mirror moments later, about to apply a clear coat of gloss on my lips, I found myself doing so with trembling hands.

I darted out of the common room on my way to the seventh floor, having concluded, despite my best attempts at deluding myself, that Harry Potter was most definitely not sitting on a bench a wall away from Malfoy to 'spend some time alone'.

It'd just be a quick check, I convinced myself on my way up. Just to make sure everything was alright. Then I'd go meet Anthony, and forget Malfoy ever existed — at least for the night.

When I got to the bench I'd seen Harry occupying on the map, it stood abandoned, and I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or concerned. I contemplated going into the Room of Requirement to check if Malfoy was in there, but talked myself out of it. If he _was_ in there — and chances were, he was — he'd start trying to rope me into talking to him, which was not only time consuming, but emotionally charged in a way I simply did not need tonight.

I groaned and rubbed my temples as I mentally debated my next move. That was when I heard it — the distinct sound of raised male voices. They hadn't been coming from the Room, but instead from somewhere to my right. _Bathroom,_ I realized.

Anxiously I rushed to the source of the commotion, hoping I had been mistaken.

"—like I said, Potter, not my fault your mummy couldn't protect you from that head injury and now you're walking around mentally stunted."

I flattened myself against the wall to listen. The door had been left open.

"I know you hexed her, Malfoy. We all know. She told us all about Azkaban, and how she blacked out while _you_ were there."

I groaned internally, knowing all too well how these things had a tendency to play out.

"You better lower that wand, Potty," came Malfoy's drawl. "Merlin knows I've been looking for a good reason to knock your teeth out of your head, and I'm starting to think I don't even need one."

"Go on then, Malfoy. Just roll up that sleeve like I said and no one'll need to knock anybody's teeth out."

"Like fucking hell I will," I heard him snarl. "Get the fuck out of here. I'm already being too lenient."

" _Apareci-"_

_"_ _Confringo!_ " bellowed Malfoy and I heard the sound of smashing porcelain. I grabbed for my wand, having decided it was time to go in whether I liked it or not. I cursed, unable to extract it from beneath the clutter in my bag.

" _Expul—"_

" _Cruci—"_

_"_ _SECTUMSEMPRA!"_ bellowed Harry.

I froze, straining my ears for a curse in return from Malfoy, but none came. I sprinted through the bathroom door.

"What the hell is—"

"No," gasped Harry, wand outstretched, looking at a spot on the floor partially obscured by a cubicle. I could see a wand — Malfoy's wand — and a sheen of red covering the waterlogged floor. "I…I didn't."

My words, my actions, my feelings — they were all a blur, a ball of screams and disbelief. I dropped to my knees by Malfoy, and tried fruitlessly to stop the blood seeping from deep gashes all over his body. " _Sangintertio! Sangint—"_

He gripped at me with convulsing hands. "Z-Zab—"

Tears hazed my vision as I gently pried his hands off; they were getting in the way of my useless sorcery.

" _Sangintertio!_ _Aversoria! AVERSORIA! AVERS—WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF SPELL DID YOU USE?"_ I screamed, only to find I was alone with Malfoy. I must have ordered Harry to get help somewhere in the chaos.

Malfoy's bloody hands grabbed at my face.

"Z-Zab… Heidi, I need t-to tell y-you—"

I pushed his hair out of his eyes, my tears mingling with the gore on his face as I held him on my lap.

"You need to stop talking! _Sangintertio! SANGINTERTIO, I SAID! REPLIO SANGUERIA!_ _REP-rep-repli_ —" I sobbed as he rolled off my lap and spat the blood that I had meant to conjure into his arteries. "Draco, I'm so sorry!"

"M-Mungo's—"

"Yes, yes I know!" I said in a rush. "We'll get you to St. Mungo's! You just need to—"

"M-Mungo's with y-you was a n-nice thought," he mumbled hazily. "I'm s-sorry for…"

"No, no, no, stay awake!" I begged. "Please stay awake."

But it was no use, and his eyelids dropped shut. I cast spells purely on instinct, unable to discern if anything was working. I had never seen wounds so determined to re-open themselves.

The gap between me thinking the unthinkable had happened, and Snape shoving me aside was one filled with retching.

"Compose yourself and wipe the blood off his face!" ordered Snape, before whispering a long string of Latin that I had never heard before. The gashes began to close. I ran the bleached sleeve of my top across his face to reveal a slit that passed through his eyebrow and across his nose, ending on parted lips. It was all looking hauntingly wrong.

"I-is he—" I couldn't even fathom a thing such as his death, which made suggesting it out loud impossible. Snape paid me no attention and hoisted him to a half-stand. I watched uselessly from the floor, vaguely aware that there was a tightness in my chest and a dryness on my tongue.

"Miss Zabini, if you are going to watch while people die instead of getting them to safety, then you may want to _rethink your profession_ ," snarled Snape, buckling underneath Draco's limp weight. I jumped up and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, my own snaking around his waist. "We go straight to the hospital wing. And you…" I jolted, thinking he meant me, until I saw with even more horror that Harry had been in the corner, looking almost as pale as Draco. "You will await my return."

 


	35. Like You Love Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Hope January’s been treating you all nicely! Not much news on my end, except that I’ve got another chapter for you. Thanks as always for the love, and for the time! I’m honestly shocked at how much this story has grown from when I first started it, and how lovely you’ve all been. 
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Which one of you cast the curse?" demanded Snape as we made our way through the congested halls of the school. "Do not think to lie to me girl or I will have you out of this school before dawn."

My knees were buckling under Malfoy's dead weight. I tried to look only ahead, ignoring the shocked faces of my cohorts and the whispers that erupted as we manoeuvred someone this bloody through the corridors. Internalizing their reactions would only slow me down.

"Harry," I said blankly, swerving to avoid a crowd of oblivious Gryffindors standing in the way. They gaped at us, wide-eyed, and dispersed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Malfoy's head lolling limply from side to side, igniting a fresh sense of urgency.

"Of course it was Potter," sneered Snape, before muttering something disdainful about Harry that dissipated before it fully hit my brain. I was too busy staring at every doorway, staircase and corner that we had yet to round, trying as hard as I could to will the hospital wing closer.

For all the time I'd spent buried in textbooks, I had been woefully ill-prepared for the practical realities of such a quickly devolving situation; for the invasive, ferrous smell that came when clothes were soaked with this much blood, and for the infinitely amplified difficulty in aiming a healing spell at somebody convulsing so violently. Out of everything, however, I had been the least prepared for the absolute desperation that would come to grip me.

I found myself praying to every deity that I had ever heard of as we pulled Malfoy through the school, offering them absolutely everything in exchange for him coming out of this alive and unharmed. I swore to be eternally good, to answer my father's letters, and to never slight another soul on this planet again. I'd keep my room clean and my thoughts pure, and if Malfoy recovered from this, if I could only have this _one thing_ , I would tell him every last mortifying thing on my mind from start to finish. I'd stand in front of Draco Malfoy's eternally vexing, smirk-laden face and I would explain exactly how much I wanted him in every which horrible way, so long as there was a vexing, smirk-laden face to stand in front of.

I concluded my prayers just as the hospital wing doors came into view.

"Severus!" cried Madam Pomfrey as we appeared in the doorway. "Severus, what's happened!"

"Potter's handiwork, it seems," said Snape as we laid Malfoy on an empty bed.

"What was the boy hit with?" she asked urgently as she summoned bandages.

"Sectumsempra," said Snape plainly.

"I haven't seen this in years," remarked Madam Pomfrey as she ran her wand over his wounds, a glowing purple light forming at the tip. I recognized it as one of the three spells used to trace past healing magic. She looked up, perplexed. "Did somebody attempt a blood replenishing spell on this boy?"

My heart dropped.

"I'm — I'm sorry," I whispered weakly, feeling the tears coming. "I'm so sorry. It's all I knew how to do."

Snape leaned in for a better look at the purple glow. "It went into his lungs, Poppy." He sneered at me. "This is the sort of imprecision that stems from laziness and heavy-handedness. If—"

"Heavy-handed or not, you just about saved this boy's life," interrupted Madam Pomfrey matter-of-factly.

I froze, not daring to believe that this was what a saved life looked like. It was certainly bloodier than I had expected. But he was alive… thank Merlin he was alive…

As Pomfrey reached for the buttons on Malfoy's shirt, Snape stopped her.

"Poppy, surely we can afford this child some privacy," he said, gesturing pointedly at me. "I assure you, the last thing he needs is Zabini's sister gawking at him slack-jawed."

"I'm not gawking!" I said quickly. "I'm here to help!"

"Yes, and a great help you've been, shaking at the knees at the mere sight of a little bit of blood," jeered Snape. "Get Potter and tell him to wait for me in my office at once."

"I'm not leaving," I replied resolutely. "Not until I know he's alright."

Snape curled his lip. "Five points from Gryffindor, I think."

"I don't care," I insisted.

" _Detention,_ Zabini."

"I don't care, I said!" I turned helplessly to Madam Pomfrey. "Please, tell me how to help."

Unlike Snape's viper-like scowl, Pomfrey's face had grown considerably softer, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was piecing together the truth about my feelings that I had tried so hard to deny myself.

"You cannot help, dear," she said gravely. "The curse is too advanced for you, and if you insist on staying here, you will only be stalling his recovery. I am more than sure that you do not want that. You may visit him tomorrow, but for tonight, I urge you to go elsewhere."

I knew then that I had lost; that it was all out of my hands. Feeling incredibly desperate, I left the hospital wing.

Even though I'd been banished, I tried to linger as closely as I could to the doors, on the off chance that I would hear progress being made. I was straining my ears, searching for anything — a sob, an exclamation, even Malfoy's voice. But all I could hear was wordless shuffling and my own pounding heartbeat in my ears. I looked down at my shaking hands and my new white top and realized for the first time that they were absolutely covered in Malfoy's blood. How did this all happen so quickly? It was only earlier that I'd told him off in class, only yesterday that we'd had our row, only… oh god. The last things I'd said to him, _truly_ said to him were that he was pathetic. A waste. That I didn't care for him in the way that he thought.

The last things I had said to Draco Malfoy had been lies.

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"Where's Harry?" I demanded, after bursting into the common room a mere ten minutes later.

"U-upstairs," stuttered Dean, unable to mask his bewilderment quickly enough as he took in my appearance. "In our room."

Wordlessly, I marched up the steps two at a time and threw open the door to the boys' dorm. Harry was sitting on his bed, Ron, Hermione and Ginny beside him. His green eyes met mine the instant I appeared in the doorway, and for what felt like the longest time there was nothing but silence.

"Well?" I said cuttingly, in a voice that sounded slightly less like my own.

"Well what?" replied Harry after a pause, Ginny's hand on his shoulder.

" _Well?_ " I repeated. "Do you have anything to say for yourself? An explanation, maybe, of what _the hell_ you were thinking using that kind of spell on a person?"

"I didn't intend for this. You know me. You know I wouldn't do that."

This was little consolation for my brain, which was playing looping visuals of Malfoy bleeding out on the bathroom tile.

"He's not dead, though, is he?" interjected Ron. "He'll be alright. Malfoy's one to really milk it, anyway; it's probably only half as serious as he'll have you think it is."

"Bit hard to milk bleeding out on the floor, I think," I said coldly, before turning back to Harry. "I just want to know under what circumstances you thought it was okay to—"

"I didn't," said Harry quickly.

"He was going to Crucio Harry! You can't justify that," said Ron with an expression of great wisdom on his face. "Just can't. It's called an Unforgivable for a reason."

I put my hands on my hips and clenched my jaw. So this is how it was going to be.

"Well you all clearly know the intimate details of what occurred. What do you need me here for, spoiling your narrative? I'm only a live witness to the whole thing. I suppose Harry told you all that he's the one that went after Malfoy in the first place."

Our friends met my gaze with looks of uncertainty.

"Guess he didn't," I said, before turning to leave.

"Why don't you tell them about you, then?" I heard Harry say as I turned the doorknob. I stiffened and turned back to face everyone.

"What?"

"I saw how you were with Malfoy. The way you were touching him. It was … off."

"The way I was _touching him?_ " I demanded, bewildered. "How, Harry, was I touching this person as he was _bleeding out_ at my feet?"

"I dunno! I dunno," said Harry, clearly trying to put words to something he was deeply certain he had witnessed. "The way Ginny does to me," he concluded. "Like you … like you love him or something."

"What are you saying? That you think I love Malfoy?" I demanded.

"Do you?" asked Harry blankly. All heads turned to me.

Did I?

"That's stupid."

"I agree. It is stupid. It's _really_ stupid, Heidi. Malfoy doesn't give a shit about you and he never will. You don't know half of what he's said about you over the years — we didn't dare tell you."

"I know what he's said about me, Harry, you don't need to make it sound so mystical," I said, with a dismissive wave of my blood-covered hand.

"Then you know why being involved with him is idiotic at best," Harry responded.

"I'm not _involved_ with him!" I snapped. "He's my study partner."

"Whatever he is, you better leave him to those girls of his; Parkinson and whoever else."

"Parkinson's not interested in — look, this is ridiculous! Don't change the subject just to avoid talking about the fact that you nearly murdered him!"

"He didn't though," interjected Ginny. "Changes everything, doesn't it?"

"Is that meant to be comforting?" I spluttered. "You're only standing up for him because he's your boyfriend!"

"Yeah, Harry _is_ my boyfriend. So what's Malfoy to you then? Why are _you_ standing up for _him_?"

"You guys are being ridiculous," said Hermione firmly. I had almost forgotten she was there; she'd been sitting quietly, taking it all in. "Heidi's with Anthony. Aren't you, Heidi?"

All eyes were on me once again.

"Erm … we're …. we're sort of on a pause," I admitted sheepishly.

Harry pointed to me triumphantly as he addressed the rest of our friends.

"I told you all something was going on; said it ages ago. Try denying it now."

"There is _nothing_ going on!" I lied. "And don't talk about me as if I'm not standing right—"

"THERE IS SOMETHING GOING ON!" he roared.

"THERE IS NOTHING—"

"Maybe not with you," said Harry dangerously. "Maybe just with him. But I'll warn you of one thing: that piece of shit is a Death Eater, and when I prove it, I will be the first to say that I regret the fact that that curse didn't finish its job."

I don't know how it happened; can barely remember a salient thought that led up to it. All I know is that my knuckles and Harry Potter's jaw had somehow entered into a grand collision, and no amount of gasping or apologizing on my part after the fact was able to remove the wedge that was now between us. In a matter of seconds, the middle ground that we had cultivated for six years had disappeared. I suddenly found myself firmly bound to my side, and he to his.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny gathered around him, staring at me as if they'd never seen anything quite so despicable. There would be rumours soon — if not by them, then by the portraits that had witnessed me punch the Boy Who Lived. Worse still, I had nowhere left to go to compose myself; there were Gryffindors in the dorms and in the common room, and other students in the library, while all I needed — other than a Time Turner — was isolation and silence. A chance to sit and sort through the utter mess that had become my emotions and my life. A chance to cry over whoever I wanted, Malfoy or not, without having to answer to anybody's suspicions. There was only one place I could think of that could grant me such a luxury.

Our room stood in exactly the same state as the last time I'd been in it, except that I had been with Malfoy then. It seemed intimidatingly vast now that I was alone. A cold cup of black coffee stood on a table by his armchair, next to a book that had been laid open to mark his spot. My stomach dropped. He had thought he'd be coming back here tonight. He had no idea that my idiot of a friend would cut him open head to toe.

Malfoy was no saint, I knew this. He'd attempted an Unforgivable for seemingly no reason, all because of a revealing charm aimed at his forearm. How was Harry supposed to know that revealing charm was as good as an _Avada_ to Malfoy?

I took a seat in his armchair and asked myself where the hell to go from here. I didn't even know if he was alive, or if he'd make it through the night. I'd be the last person they'd tell, I realized in a sickening thought. Nobody knew just how much had changed these past few months.

I groaned and buried my head in my hands, thoroughly hating myself for not accepting his offer to talk.

_St. Mungo's with you was a nice thought._

A wet sob pushed its way up my throat. What the fuck was I supposed to do if he died? And what the fuck was I supposed to do while I waited to find out? I stared down at my blood-crusted shirt and hands, and realized I'd still done nothing to clean them. I could almost picture Malfoy's haughty drawl if he'd been here to see the state of me.

_You could start by cleaning the blood off yourself, Zabini. Or are you enjoying the idea of being a walking crime scene?_

I grabbed my wand and cast _Tergeo,_ cursing when it refused to lift the blood completely from my bleached white top. I cast it again, but the faint pink splotches refused to leave. Swearing in frustration, I marched to our bed and threw the shirt from myself, replacing it with the one Malfoy had given me. I felt slightly saner as I crashed onto the bed, his scent surrounding me. I tried to convince myself that I was being an idiot thinking Malfoy would die. Your enemy can't die once you start to want to kiss them. That would be like getting punished twice. The universe might be a hectic place, but it still had rules.

I glanced at my watch and sighed. Ten to midnight. What a brutally long night it would be waiting for morning to visit him. I rolled over on my side and stared blankly at the wall for some time before checking my watch again. Three to midnight. Midnight. Ten past. Twenty past.

That was when I came up with a loophole that was more desperate than it was clever; Pomfrey had told me to come back tomorrow, after all. It just so happened that tomorrow had occurred precisely twenty minutes ago.

Armed with this pitifully weak argument, I tucked Malfoy's shirt into my jeans and hurried out of the room.

I was met with about as much enthusiasm as I could have predicted from Pomfrey, who cracked the hospital doors open only a smidgen.

"Miss Zabini, what is it at this hour? Are you feeling unwell?"

"Er … yes?" I said unsurely. "Yes I am."

"What's wrong?"

"My stomach, it's … sick."

Pomfrey narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Wait here. I've got some Ginger Fizz in my cupboard."

"Couldn't I come in?" I asked innocently.

"Miss Zabini, is this a ploy to come inside and check on Malfoy?"

"No, I'm — how is he, now that you mention it?"

"Come back during _visiting hours,_ " Pomfrey insisted.

"So he's fine then? He's alive?" I said eagerly.

"He's alive, yes, but those wounds are no paper cuts. What Potter was thinking I'll never know."

"Is he awake?" I asked, trying pathetically to catch a glimpse over her shoulder.

"Goodness no, dear. It would quite inhumane to leave him sentient for this," she answered, her aging face creased with worry.

"So it's—"

"Fine, fine! Come in!" she hissed, holding the door open for me. Needing no further invitation, I tried my best to appear nonchalant as I walked into the hospital wing.

The beds were fuller than I had noticed earlier, with occupants of various Hogwarts houses sleeping, groaning, or in one case quietly sobbing as thick spines poked from their skin. I searched for the familiar glint of white-blond hair on a pillow, but found nothing until Pomfrey pointed out the furthest bed from the door, light blue drapes drawn around it. I gently pried them apart.

My stomach did a little jump as I took him in. The blood had been cleaned up completely, and his hair had been moved back into place, but despite all this he looked … well, he looked _dead_. There was no other way to put it. His face was void of all the things that made him Draco Malfoy — there was no smirk, no scowl, not even the tiny grin that had begun to grace his features when I said something clever. Granted, I had nothing clever left to say.

"So he can't … he can't hear me?" I asked Pomfrey, who was hovering nearby, trying to force someone to drink a particularly vile potion.

"No, dear."

I looked back down at his blank face. Maybe it was for the best. I had so much to tell him, so much that had happened — the problem being, of course, that if I told him these things, he would then _know_ them. Perhaps this could be a practice round.

"I lost all my friends about two hours ago," I whispered to him, feeling rather strange as I did it. "I punched Harry Potter over you."

I craned my neck to look at him, knowing that only a most powerful sleeping potion or death itself could block a smirk from his face at that sort of news. Blank.

"You did it, you bastard," I whispered. "You win. You finally made me like you in the sort of way that your mother and father would _heavily_ frown upon."

I could only presume that the expression of disgust that neglected to grace his features confirmed what Pomfrey had said about him being completely out of it.

"Jerk," I mumbled darkly. "You're going to make me say it to your face, aren't you? You're going to make me tell you how much I want to kiss you with you looming over me. Honestly, Malfoy, can't you just nod to show me you heard, so we can forget about all of this and avoid speaking about it for the rest of our lives?"

Nothing.

"Bast— wait, what the…"

I ripped open his blankets, which were seeping with red.

"He's bleeding!" I cried, looking around desperately for Pomfrey. "He's bleeding again!"

Pomfrey scurried over to him and worked his shirt open without hesitation. His wounds had been coated in a thick black paste.

"Hand me the Dittany," she ordered. "It's on the table beside you."

I did as told. She put a drop in every cut, leading them to seal.

"This is the problem with this Sectumsempra business," she explained as she dabbed at him with a cloth. "It needs to run its course. It's not that the wounds are difficult to close, it's that you have to notice when they open up again. I — Jameson, stop picking at your legs and touching your face after! You're only spreading the hex!" she barked over her shoulder at another bed, where a fifth-year was ferociously scratching slime-covered scabs.

"I could watch Malfoy," I proposed.

"Don't be silly. You're not even meant to be out of your bed at this time of night. You're lucky I don't have the time to fetch Minerva."

"I'm in the Healer program," I said lamely. "I could help with some of the simpler things, take them off your hands. I could keep an eye on Jameson and his scabs over there. You'd be less distracted then, wouldn't you? And it could help me learn some things. I applied for a program at St. Mungo's and—"

Pomfrey sighed sharply, looking tired and defeated under the dim light of the hospital wing.

"Fine. You may assist me for the week. But you will not miss any classes, and if I see you're working yourself to exhaustion, I reserve the right to send you straight to your common room."

"Absolutely."

"Healing is no walk in the park, you know. There's blood and vomit and goodness knows what else. You won't get a wink of sleep at night just so that these children can rest. You're eager to do it tonight, but you just might be singing a different tune after forty-eight hours with barely a nap."

"I'd really like to do this," I insisted. "I'm not sure that I could live with myself if I didn't."

Madam Pomfrey's face softened. She patted me on the shoulder.

"I know, dear. That's why I'm offering. From what I know of you, you may have blasted my door down if I didn't."

Feeling immensely grateful, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and began what would grow to be one of the most emotionally taxing weeks of my life.

 


	36. Not Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I’m not going to delay you too long, but I really want to extend a massive thank you for your support with this story. This chapter is a bit longer than usual, and I hope that’s alright with you guys. There were quite a few things I wanted to accomplish to move forward. As always, feel free to leave your thoughts!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

Thanks to Malfoy's absence, I had rather predictably been placed with Anthony and Terry for the week, which is how I had come to find firsthand that Anthony Goldstein was not overly-thrilled with the fact that I'd stood him up, even if it had been due to emergency circumstances. The wall of formality that had seemed to come down after our dates was now permeating every interaction we had, no matter how small. I'd take any bit of formality over the hostility I was getting from my own housemates, however. None had spoken a word to me since the original incident, not even Hermione. It made for a rather lonely set of days, with few people to speak to but the patients and Pomfrey herself, who usually had me helping with things that were either extremely mundane or extremely alarming.

 On this particular evening, she'd sent me on a quest to find fresh linens for the beds. I returned to the sight of Greengrass pawing at Malfoy's bandages, Pansy beside her.

"Excuse me," I snapped, chucking the pile of linens I was carrying onto the nearest bed, momentarily forgetting it was taken. Rose Zeller, who had been brought into the hospital wing after a particularly stubborn immobilizing hex, grunted as they collided with her face, and I found myself too occupied to give her an apology. "Don't touch his bandages, you'll ruin them!"

Pansy turned around just as I approached Malfoy's bed.

"Zabini, what are you doing here?" Her eyes travelled down my apron which, despite having been clean when I put it on three hours ago, bore the mark of many traumatizing experiences since then. "Is that vomit on your apron? Why would you wear that, it smells absolutely horrible! Are you some sort of cleaner?"

"Excuse me? I'm _clearly_ here to assist Madam Pomfrey with healing patients. I'm in the Healing program, remember? I actually made it past the first day, unlike some of us."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, you're very important."

I was distracted from composing a retort by Greengrass, as I noticed her lean frame hunching over Malfoy, clearly fiddling with something.

"Parkinson, could you tell your suddenly deaf friend to please stop touching the comatose patients?"

Daphne straightened up and cast me a most icy expression.

"I'm fixing Draco's bandages; they're crooked."

"They absolutely are not crooked!" I said shrilly.

They were, in fact, extremely crooked, and it was one of few times this week that I was relieved Malfoy was dead out of it, since it prevented him from growing aware of the fact that I had to use liberal amounts of sticky tape to be able to replicate what Pomfrey had showed me. I tugged his covers out from her grip and pulled them back into place to hide my sloppy work.

"Is there a reason you're here, Greengrass? Decided to finally check yourself in for your head condition?" I sniped.

"I'm obviously here to see Draco."

" _Obviously,_ " I mimicked, having nothing clever left to say.

Rose Zeller gave a loud groan and I realized she was struggling under the weight of the pile of linens I had dropped on her. I gasped and rushed over to remove them.

"Can I get something to eat?" croaked Ritchie Coote from the bed beside hers.

I cast an uncertain glance at Parkinson and Greengrass, who had now pulled chairs up to either side of Malfoy. Getting him a snack entailed leaving the room to search for something edible, which would give Greengrass plenty of time to hold the legally-binding wedding ceremony she was clearly here for. It was only my utmost devotion to Healing — and also the fact that Ritchie once called Malfoy a monumental prat for mocking my ascent to the Gryffindor Quidditch team — that allowed me to give in to his request.

I came back, however, to a scene more unnerving than the one I had left. While Pansy was sitting silently with her nose in a Witch Weekly, Daphne was now stroking Malfoy's hair. I poured Ritchie a glass of water to have with his sandwich, trying to turn my back to the scene so that I wouldn't say anything controversial.

"Hurry up and heal, sweetheart," I heard her murmur to him. I rolled my eyes, making them sting even more from the sleep deprivation I had brought upon my body these past few days. "I miss you terribly; it just hasn't been the same without you. Every time I'm in the Great Hall and I see that empty spot at the table…"

I clamped my tongue between my teeth to keep from relaying the fact that he'd hardly ate in the Great Hall for weeks, and that there were about a million empty spots at every table every day seeing that the chairs were _one long bench._

"I can't wait for you to be up and about again so we can have our little talks," she purred. "Like the one we had at Christmas, at Blaise's house, when he invited us over for that party and you had your arm around me the whole—"

"New Years," I snapped, unable to restrain myself.

"What?"

"He wasn't with you on Christmas. You're referring to New Years."

Daphne glared at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pansy resurface from her magazine, eyebrow raised.

"How would _you_ know what he was doing at Christmas?" asked Pansy.

Ah. So this is why I wasn't supposed to talk on impulse.

"I—I never said I knew what he was doing at Christmas," I said, trying desperately to fabricate something believable. "I only said that what she's describing happened on New Years because I was there and I saw it. With you, might I add."

" _No_ ," pressed Pansy, further confirming that she was much less stupid than I had thought she was all these years. "You said 'he wasn't with you on Christmas', which obviously implies that you know exactly where he was."

"Parkinson, you're being—"

"Where was he then, Zabini? Was he spending the evening with you?"

Daphne looked somewhat alarmed at this, which, I was pleased to note, clearly meant that it wasn't completely impossible a concept to the outside world.

"We were fighting," I blurted. It was a half-truth, but a truth none the less. "That's how I know he wasn't with you — he was spending the evening picking on me. I don't exactly like to talk about it; it was a rough evening for me, as I'm sure you both know by now."

Daphne exchanged a glance with Pansy, who shrugged and nodded, returning to her magazine. Just then, Madam Pomfrey re-appeared with a cartful of supplies.

"Miss Zabini, are you still here? I told you to leave at seven! Dinner's almost over. Run along and get yourself a helping before it disappears."

Disappointed, I took off my apron and put it in the dirty linens basket where it promptly vanished. I despised the concept of dinner in the Great Hall for a slew of reasons lately, not the least of which was the fact that four faces at the Gryffindor table would almost certainly be glaring at or ignoring me. Staying in the hospital wing and watching Greengrass attempt to copulate with Malfoy would be no less irritating, however, so I saw no better option than to leave.

I'd taken to eating dinner in the Room of Requirement, where I'd use homework to kill time before Pomfrey would let me come back into the wing again. I'd usually make it through half of my Potions and Transfigurations homework before she could be convinced that I had taken a long enough break, and this evening was no different.

When I walked back into the hospital wing, however, I was alarmed to find Narcissa Malfoy grabbing me roughly by the shoulders.

"You!" she snarled, nails digging into my flesh despite the thick fabric of my jumper. "If you think I won't have you tried by the Wizengamot for this, you are _mistaken_ , girl. I don't care whose daughter—"

"Mrs. Malfoy!" barked Pomfrey in a tone I had never heard her use. "I will not have you speaking to—"

"Look at what these deplorable children did to my son," said Narcissa in a murderous voice. "And tell me once more to adjust my tone, I _dare_ you."

Madam Pomfrey's irritation was not to be assuaged, however.

"Your son is well on his way to being completely recovered from his injuries. The coma is simply out of mercy, not necessity. If you would like him to be conscious for any future bleeding should it occur, I suppose it can be arranged. I certainly don't recommend it, but my recommendations are neither here nor there with you, it seems. As for Miss Zabini — I personally find shouting threats at the girl who helped save your son to be in poor taste, but taste seems to be irrelevant to you. I know one thing for certain, however: you will not continue to threaten volunteers in my hospital wing."

Narcissa frowned at this and turned to me with a glimmer of uncertainty in her icy blue eyes. "What do you mean 'helped save your son'? What ridiculous fantasy is this?"

"Oh yes. If she hadn't performed a string of advanced, risky spells on him, he'd have been no more than a ghost by now," said Madam Pomfrey, and I was somewhat honoured to find her beaming proudly at me. "So I suggest you be a little more grateful."

"I do not care what you suggest. I will be here every single day until my son wakes up, tending to him whether you like it or not, and don't dare think otherwise."

Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms.

"Good. Perhaps then Heidi can take her very well-deserved break from doing so."

Suddenly feeling a little more exposed to Narcissa Malfoy than I'd have like to, I cleared my throat awkwardly and tried to come up with a way to play off my involvement.

"I help with everyone, not just Malf—"

But she turned on her heel and walked brusquely away before I could complete my sentence. I sighed, remembering the inconvenient promise I had made a few months prior…

_If something is to happen to me, I need you to speak with my mother. I need you to speak with her and convince her to go to France. I don't care how you do it, Zabini, just make sure she goes to that damn treatment centre._

I excused myself to Madam Pomfrey, before hurrying out of the hospital wing. It took me a few uncertain turns down various corridors before I caught sight of Malfoy's mother once again.

"Mrs. Malfoy! Could I speak to you a moment?" I called out after her, slightly winded from rushing through the castle. She stopped walking and turned to me, eyebrow raised.

"Can't you see I haven't got time, girl?"

I nodded, trying not to keel over. I really needed to participate more in the drills at Quidditch practice…

"I understand. It's just … just that Draco asked me to," I panted.

She drew her thin blonde eyebrows together.

"That is an interesting thing to call my son."

"It's a bit too celestial for my liking, but you seem to enjoy it," I joked. She did not smile. "Really, Mrs. Malfoy, I won't take long. It would feel wrong if I didn't speak with you, seeing as he asked me to in confidence."

She pursed her lips in distaste, but relented. "Very well, we'll go to the village; I refuse to stay in this castle any longer whilst it is being run by that stupid, decrepit old man."

"Only … only I'm not sure I'm allowed to leave the school grounds."

She rolled her eyes and began walking away.

"On second thought, I'm sure it's fine," I said, darting after her.

The walk to Hogsmeade was by far one of the most excruciatingly awkward encounters that I'd had with her in my life. I had absolutely nothing to say in the way of small talk, as even 'how have you been' seemed to be a touchy place to go all things considered.

"So are you … are you going anywhere soon? Like for a holiday?" I asked.

"No," she replied stiffly.

"Right. Good. Probably best to stay put. You know, with present circumstances being the way they are."

She stopped short and turned to me. "Meaning?"

I could feel myself start to sweat despite the February air. "Meaning nothing," I said. "Other than the fact that … you know … with your husband—"

"Speak of my husband once more and I will be cutting this _very_ short," she warned me **,** and I had the good sense to complete the rest of the walk as silently as I had begun it.

An even more troubling situation presented itself when we'd finally reached the village and found that our options for a civilized, indoor chat were two pubs (which I figured it was best not to suggest) and Madam Puddifoot's during Valentine's season.

"What do they serve in this 'Puddifoot's' place?" she asked coldly as we stepped through the door. An unenthusiastic-looking cupid grabbed a handful of confetti from a basket and threw it in her face, eliciting a shriek. He then did the same to me without waiting for me to close my mouth, and I had to struggle hard not to swallow some by accident.

"I think it's mostly— ugh." I tried to discreetly reach into my mouth to extract a piece of pink confetti. "I think it's mostly some hot drinks, sweets, and a generous side of romantic disappointment. I'm not sure if the menu's been changed for Valentine's Day, though; I haven't been here much," I admitted.

Narcissa swatted away the fat cupid and straightened her travelling cloak.

"Fine. Let's make this quick."

She took off her cloak and shoved it into the hands of Madam Puddifoot herself, interrupting her jovial greeting. I followed her to a table in the corner, opposite the one I'd sat at with Anthony. Stiffly and silently, she flipped open the fuzzy pink menu and pursed her lips at the contents.

"Can I get you two a little something sweet to start?" asked Madam Puddifoot cheerfully, clearly choosing to be the bigger person in the sort of way that Narcissa Malfoy seldom appreciated.

"No. I want a coffee, and I want it black. If so much as a single sugar crystal makes its way into it, you will remake it. I want it hot, but no so hot that my tongue burns. Spoon on the side for stirring."

I squinted, trying to figure out what exactly she'd be stirring if she took her coffee black.

Madam Puddifoot's joyful smile fell slightly. She turned to me. "Yourself, dear?"

"I'll take a hot chocolate, but maybe with a little extra pump of syrup if I could? And some extra whipped cream, if it's not too bothersome?"

Narcissa's eyebrow crept up as she scanned me. I swallowed nervously under her scrutinizing gaze.

"Er … sugar-free syrup. No whipped cream."

Madam Puddifoot gave a small 'tsk' and jotted down my order. She reappeared with our drinks soon after. We were two of very few patrons now that it wasn't a Hogwarts weekend.

"Alright then," Narcissa said, looking very bored. "What is it you've been instructed to tell me by my 'son'?"

I furrowed my eyebrows at the strangely scathing way she'd said son, and soon realized the reason behind it when I opened my mouth to speak.

"I understand you've tricked me here to relay some sort of threat to my family from Harry Potter. I just want you to know that you've gotten yourself into far larger a mess than you think. My husband may be in some unfortunate circumstances, but the Ministry of Magic has certainly not ceased to be a friend to this family."

I blinked slowly, trying to come up with an appropriate response, but all I could give was a garbled, confused chortle.

"I … I don't think you understand how … Harry doesn't really get his friends to entrap — well, anyway! I um … I actually _am_ here because of something your son asked from me."

Narcissa frowned. "I wasn't aware that you two had made a habit of asking each other for favours."

"Not often," I lied. "But given the circumstances of what happened with the Manor—"

"I assure you, nothing that that Skeeter woman writes about the Manor, or my family, or my personal affairs, carries an ounce of truth."

"Dra — Malfoy is extremely worried for you. I'm sure you know that."

She stiffened, coffee cup halfway to her mouth.

"I do."

"I'm not sure that you know just how much. And I… I just really wouldn't want him to have to go through something so painful as losing you," I concluded, staring hard into my cup of sugar-free, cream-less hot cocoa.

"I find that hard to believe coming out of the mouth of someone who once tried to drown my son in the river Seine."

"Right, well, there was a bit more context to that one I think, but—"

"I don't understand," Narcissa admitted. "Are you and my son some sort of … _friends_ now?"

"No," I said. "Well, maybe 'some sort'; some very strange sort. And temporarily, I hope, because I really can't keep up this charade for much longer."

"Charade?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"It's been a complicated year, Mrs. Malfoy. Let's just leave it at that."

"I suppose that's for the best. I hardly find the gossip of sixteen year olds riveting," she said. "I am interested to find out, however, why exactly Draco would confide in you in such a way?"

"Look, I might not be a very good friend to your son, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't care what happens to him at the end of all this. Nobody should have to feel the way he's felt this year, or go through what he's gone through. And he—" I was very alarmed to find my eyes welling with tears. This was the last thing I wanted his mother to see. "I only mean … only that he really wants you to do what you two spoke about at St. Mungo's. He really wants you to go to that treatment centre in France, Mrs. Malfoy. He _needs_ you to go. And — and if you're worried that he'll be all alone, then I promise you he won't. At least, I'll try to prevent that to the best of my ability as his very strange sort of friend."

Narcissa scanned my face in an analytical, detached manner, and it made me even more self-conscious about the burst of emotions I had just shown her.

"You're a bizarre girl, Heidi Zabini," she concluded. "I must admit that, knowing what I know about Estella and Robert, I find it most surprising that you turned out this way."

"I'm not adopted. I've already asked."

Narcissa, to my great surprise, laughed for the first time I'd seen in ages. I realized then that that's where Malfoy got his smile from — the one he only gave out if something truly amused him.

"I said you were strange, not that you were a biological impossibility. I know very well that you weren't adopted." She drank the last of her coffee and dabbed at her mouth with a bubblegum pink napkin. "Well, I suppose it's been an interesting evening." She pulled out a handful of coins and put them down on the table.

"Are you leaving?" I asked.

"I was planning to, unless you need me to accompany you back to the castle. I appreciate it's dark out, and Estella wouldn't much like you making the journey alone."

"But will you do it?" I pressed.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Go to France?"

Narcissa scoffed. "I hardly think it's appropriate for you to go snooping into my personal plans for recovery. This is between me and my son."

I tried not to look as hurt as I felt. She was right, of course; this wasn't my family, and Malfoy wasn't my … well, anything really. I supposed I had my own family issues to tend to, anyway.

"Well, thank you for listening, I guess. And for the hot chocolate. If I had my coin purse with me, I'd have—"

"I appreciate it was difficult coming to me with this. I disagree with many of the things you do, Miss Zabini, and I will certainly continue to do so, but I would be lying if I said that your words tonight have not been of value to me, or that I don't appreciate the concern you've extended to my son. Perhaps it would have been best, of course, if you weren't such an adamant supporter of those that are determined to bring my family misfortune in the first place."

She gave a curt nod and collected her travelling cloak, leaving me at the table alone. I felt like I'd been simultaneously slapped and hugged.

"For what it's worth, dear, I wouldn't listen to a word that came out of that woman's mouth about you," said Madam Puddifoot some minutes later as she came by to scoop up the coins Narcissa had left on the table. "I think you're built beautifully. Nice and sturdy, like an athlete. And the top half's nothing to scoff at either!"

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Some days later, as I struggled into the hospital wing under the weight of the many lesson materials that I'd taken for Malfoy, I found myself facing an empty, neatly made bed. I dropped the stack of books and parchment, and did an alarmed three-sixty around the room.

"Where's Malfoy?" I asked Madam Pomfrey, pushing back the hangings on a few beds as if I'd expected him to be hiding there.

"He was discharged this morning," she said.

"But — but why didn't anybody come get me?"

The matron looked somewhat perplexed by my question. "Why would I come get you, dear? You were in class."

"Well, how did he look? Did he look out of it?"

"He looked just fine, Miss Zabini. I hope you aren't suggesting I discharge my patients before ensuring their full recovery?" she asked, looking somewhat offended at the idea.

I shook my head and gathered everything back into my hands, muttering an embarrassed apology.

_Where the hell had he gone?_

I knew he hadn't shown up to lessons, and that he hadn't been in our room when I'd gone in to drop some homework off. He could be in the Slytherin quarters, of course, or in the Great Hall — neither of which I had a particular inclination to check. I had gotten into the habit of going downstairs to the kitchens and finding my food there, since it meant I was able to avoid facing the fact that I was now effectively friendless.

Cursing under my breath, I dropped off the pile of books upstairs and went to my most dreaded part of the school.

The Great Hall was at its busiest at this hour, the tables freshly brimming with food. My mouth watered as I scanned the options from afar — I saw shepherd's pie and massive cuts of steak, battered fish and piles of chips. By the time I got to the kitchens, they usually only had the cold stuff left, and although it tasted alright, there was nothing like a friendly chat over some warm soup **.**

I flicked my gaze to two heads of fiery red hair; they stood out the easiest in the throng. Ginny was laughing at something Ron was saying, Hermione not too far off from her, doing the same. Suddenly, my eyes hit Harry's. The speed with which his smile left his face confirmed the fact that the mere sight of me was enough to significantly sour his mood.

I could feel my heart pounding through my chest, the disappointment growing. All he had to do was gesture me over. The smallest head nod. The tiniest wave. I'd have run back to them in a matter of seconds. Instead, he slipped his gaze from mine as if he hadn't met it in the first place, and reinstated his smile as he scooped a handful of chips onto Ginny's plate. Merlin above, what would it take to —

"Ow! What the fuck!" I exclaimed as somebody pushed me roughly forwards, leading me to nearly tip over in the process.

"Am I supposed to wait until you decide to move your gargantuan body through this doorway? Which, by the way, is a feat unto itself by the looks of it."

It was Malfoy, risen from the dead like I had prayed he would. Shit. He looked _good._

"Well? Are you in or out, Freakface? You're in everybody's way."

I frowned.

"Malfoy, are you alright? You're acting a bit …"

"I see you haven't been skipping too many meals since I've been gone," he announced smugly. A nearby Slytherin giggled.

_"_ _What?"_

"A change in regimen might make it a bit easier to get your broom off the ground, if you know what I mean."

_"_ _Excuse me?"_ I demanded, dumbfounded.

He smirked and turned to make his way to his table.

I don't know if it was the worry I had spent on him, the sleep deprivation, or the generally shit turn my life had taken, but I found myself absolutely sparking with fury.

"Say that again, Malfoy," I shouted after him. "No, really, I dare you!"

He stopped short in his tracks, and wheeled around with a most classically malicious smirk. I hadn't seen that one for months. I certainly hadn't been spotting it lately when I'd been waking up with his arms around me. Without hesitating, I gave him a good, strong shove which, to my disappointment, he absorbed almost entirely without moving an inch.

"You absolute prat!" I snarled as I went for him again. Heads were beginning to turn. "You complete, absolute _tosser_ of a human being! I spend _all week—_ "

"Fuck, Zabini, get off me!"

"I WILL NOT."

He tried fruitlessly to get me to stop slapping every inch of him I could find. I saw from the corner of my eye that Harry had stood up, and was absorbing the scene with a concerned frown.

"Blaise, collect your fucking sister!" yelled Malfoy over his shoulder as he tried to protect his abdomen from my jabs.

"All this bloody effort with you and it still gets me _nowhere!_ " I snarled. "You don't even _know_ the week I've had!"

Managing finally to extricate himself from my kicks and jabs, Malfoy brushed himself off and left for his table, shaking his head and muttering something offensive.

Harry sat back down, as did my brother. Katie Bell mouthed ' _are you okay?_ ' at me, which I half-heartedly nodded at. I praised my lucky stars that there were only a few teachers at the head table, and that neither McGonagall nor Snape were among them.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Morning, Zabini," said Malfoy the next day as he settled down comfortably in the seat beside mine.

"Wanker," was all I could bring myself to reply. I refused to meet his gaze, but could see him quite well from the side-eye I was throwing his way.

"So." He turned to me smugly. "Looks like we have a lot to discuss, if what I heard from Pansy and my mother is any indication."

My stomach dropped. What had he heard from Pansy?

"Rumour has it you punched Scarhead in my honour."

"Don't worry, I won't be doing much in your honour any longer," I spat, flipping open my Charms textbook.

"Rumour also has it you're eating your meals in toilet stalls."

I threw my hands up in frustration. "You do something once and then suddenly everybody thinks it's a 'thing'! I didn't want to waste time going to the Room of Requirement that day and risk not coming back down in time to make sure your bandages — er … in time to make sure all the patients were doing alright."

"Is it true you've lost your friends?" he asked, and I was surprised to find him looking somewhat serious.

I tried to play this off with a scoff. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I absolutely would _not._ Have you seen the way you spiral out of control when you so much as suspect that somebody dislikes you? You don't have the backbone for a relationship gone sour, Zabini."

"Excuse me? You _are_ a relationship gone sour. Mind you, it soured basically out of the womb, but still. I think I've done just fine not being liked by a ferret such as yourself," I said importantly, returning to my pre-class skimming of the day's readings.

"Oh yes, you've done so well with it that you started smuggling me food and demanding to be my friend."

I stiffened.

"Don't tense up like that, Zabini, I never said I didn't appreciate it."

"Oh you said a _lot_ more than that yesterday in the Great Hall," I pointed out.

"You mean when I was trying to show Potter he has no reason to get his knickers in a twist? What was I supposed to do, give you a tight, warm hug in front of all your friends so they could punish you some more for 'fraternizing' with me? You don't need to go through that, and _I_ don't need to go through you going through that."

I felt myself cringe as I realized the truth about our interaction the evening before.

"Luckily," continued Malfoy, "you had very cleverly deduced my intentions, and did not at all use an unnecessary level of force on my freshly-healed, somewhat scarred torso, thereby leaving a nice set of bruises for me to deal with."

I winced.

"You were calling me fat! I still had the look your mother gave me when I was ordering at Madam Puddifoot's burned into the backs of my eyelids." I lowered my voice so that Anthony, who I noticed looking back at me, wouldn't hear us. "You're alright, though? I didn't hurt you too badly?"

Malfoy snorted.

"Are you finally ready to take my offer to meet upstairs and talk after class, or do I need to get bled a second time?"

"Of course I'll meet with you," I said. "I'm sorry for not doing it … for not … that evening—"

"S'fine, Zabini, no need to get tragic," he said with a smirk, just as Flitwick entered the room and began lecturing.

As the class went on, I found myself with immense trouble concentrating. It started when I noticed the light in Flitwick's airy classroom catch his face at just the right angle. I don't know if it was the potions we'd been feeding him, or the fact that he was finally forced to rest properly for once, but there was some sort of quality about him that I somehow hadn't noticed before and it made me want to —

I jolted slightly as Malfoy's hand flew to my parchment. In one fluid motion, he scratched out the word _Otttolaringgus_ and replaced it with its correctly-written counterpart. I looked at him in what I can only imagine was shock.

"You're going to want to copy this lesson down properly, Zabini," he muttered. "Unless you like me beating you on exams."

I tried my best to re-orient my focus to the front of the room, but even though my eyes were looking in the right direction, the feeling in my chest only grew. The smell of his cologne was starting to make it difficult to do anything other than picture terribly unkosher things.

I suddenly found myself jumping a foot in the air at the feeling of a hand grazing my thigh under the table.

"Shit, sorry," he muttered, before pushing back his chair to peer under the desk. "Can you get my bag out from under your chair?"

Trying (and most likely failing) to appear nonchalant, I reached under and freed the strap of his schoolbag from my chair leg.

"Thanks," he said, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" I called after him in alarm.

"Upstairs to the bathroom. Why, do you feel like coming to join me?" he drawled.

"Obviously not!"

Sniggering, he left me to pack my things in preparation for Potions.

"This is ridiculous," I mumbled darkly as I shoved my textbook into my bag. I'd fail all of my classes at this rate, if all I could do was stare at him all day! This was no way to live. The mental torture needed to end. It needed to end _today._

I grabbed my belongings and rushed to the seventh floor. I found him in the bathroom alone, washing his hands.

"Malfoy," I said, announcing my presence.

He looked up at the reflection in the mirror.

"What the—?"

He turned to me with a grin.

"Alright, Zabini, I think we need to lay down some boundaries, yeah?" he said, wiping his hands with a small towel. "I recognize that you're probably only trying to be a good friend and watch my back, but I _promise_ I can still take a piss by my fucking self. Don't worry, I checked all the corners for Scarhead. I doubt he strikes in the same place twice."

There were a million ways that I could relay to him what had been going through my mind these past few weeks — I could tell him in a complicated metaphor, or a long-winded story, or explain to him that we could never share a bed again due to a massive conflict of interest: more specifically, my very conflicted interest in him — but I knew he'd just interrupt me anyway. I needed to keep it simple for once. He needed to understand _perfectly._

"We're not friends, Malfoy, remember?" I said as I strode over to him.

Without waiting for another round of plausible deniability to play out, I grabbed his tie to bring his face in line with mine and put my lips firmly where they'd been craving to go since the first time they'd been there.

 


	37. A Lot More Mint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well! I’m very pleased to be able to bring you this chapter, and definitely don’t want to hold you up too long with an author’s note. I do want to extend a massive thank you though to everybody who’s been on board with this lil story so far though. It’s definitely come a long way, and I appreciate all your sweet comments (and kudos) along the way. They’re really motivating me to try and stay on a somewhat regular update schedule despite the horrors of law school hahaha.   
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think if you wanna!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

I had only made it through a few (admittedly marvellous) seconds before Malfoy pulled away from me. He looked around the bathroom slowly, with a greatly unsettled and confused expression on his features, before his eyes snapped down to mine. That was when the sweating started.

"Zabini, did you just kiss me?"

I blinked, unsure at which point he'd decided that the answer to this was up for debate. I _had_ put my mouth in the correct place … hadn't I?

"I…"

Alright, so primal language of the body did not land in the seamless way Parkinson liked to swear that it would. Fine. There was always Plan B, and it was always the same with me: blurt _everything._

"Right, okay — I can explain how we got here completely rationally, if you'll just hear me out. It should only take a second, I swear," I pleaded.

He responded with silence.

"Okay, so, we'll just wind it back to when it all started: April twenty-third, nineteen eighty — I am born. Then, like … what? Two months later? One and a half?" I counted on my fingers to make sure. "Right, so around one and a half months later, _you_ are born. I lay eyes on you at some point soon after, and, through my blurry baby vision I realize that there is _nothing_ more that I would like than to punch your smirking baby face. Fast forward a year; I now presumably gain the dexterity needed to accomplish this task and—"

Without warning, Malfoy grabbed hold of my arm and began to drag me out of the boys' toilet.

"What are you doing?" I blubbered, trying fruitlessly to dig my heels into the ground and slow him down. "Where are we going? Are you angry with me? Look, I know—"

"Shut up a second, Zabini! I can't think," he said, his grip still firmly on my elbow as we stopped in front of the blank stretch of wall that housed the door to our room.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" I demanded. "What do you even need to think ab—"

The carved wooden door to the Room of Requirement began to materialize. I stared at it, and turned furiously to him once realization dawned.

"No. No, you are _not_ bringing me in there to yell at me for kissing you. If you don't like what I did back there, then you were at perfect liberty to say so! But you are _not_ isolating me in a second location just so you can yell at me louder."

Malfoy, apparently suddenly unable to hear me, pulled the door open and shoved me through it before slamming it closed after us. I hardly managed to take a step inside before I found him pushing me into the cold stone wall where the door had been seconds before. Before I could ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, he answered my question unprompted by pressing his lips into mine.

This was nothing like the sad little kiss we'd shared in my bedroom at home, or even the one I'd planted on him in the bathroom moments before. This was more. Better. Nothing about it was accidental — it was brimming with intent. Every nibble, gasp and moan was because he wanted it to be there. Because he _wanted_ to kiss me. Suddenly, after Merlin knows how long, he was moving down my neck, planting tiny pecks that made me shiver.

"Wait! Wait," I said, taking little gasps of air now that I had the chance. "Maybe we should talk about this," I suggested as he ran his lips gently over my jaw.

"We are talking, Zabini," he murmured, before trapping my mouth with his once more.

This was not at all what I pictured would result from my sudden gathering of courage. I thought I'd get to kiss him briefly just to quash the urge, and then go off on a monologue that he'd ever-lovingly deem a new level of idiotic. I though we'd part ways — maybe permanently. I thought he'd lodge a complaint for lewd behaviour with his head of house, scoring me about a million detentions. I did _not_ think he would be grabbing my waist like _that_.

I was mortified to hear myself give a tiny moan as he slid his tongue along my bottom lip. Reluctantly, I opened my mouth a little, but it was more than enough of a cue for him to pick up the pace. A little more kissing. A lot more mint.

Suddenly, and perfectly on time, he resurfaced and straightened his tie; I had messed it up in the process of pulling on it.

"Here," he said, handing back my hair clip. I didn't bother asking about the logistics of how it had gone from my hair to his hand during this rather physically involved few minutes.

"What are—"

He flashed me his watch, and I was satisfied to see him looking a little winded and dishevelled despite his best efforts.

"Potions," he muttered.

I nodded and gathered my bag, before following him out of the room. My brain was moving at a shockingly accelerated pace for something that had been so fuzzy only minutes ago. I had kissed Draco Malfoy, and then ... then Draco Malfoy had _really_ kissed me. I had next to no idea what this would mean for us as people, or if it would ever repeat itself. Knowing Malfoy, that would be a hard no.

I found the rest of the day's lessons to be an utterly horrible endeavour — even worse than when he refused to show up at all. I had no idea what was going through Malfoy's mind the entire time; the only words he'd bothered to say were requests for me to hand him ingredients and tools for plant care. By the time we'd hit Transfiguration, I had come crashing down from my earlier high. He didn't want this. He didn't want anything to do with this. He had his parents, and his stupid allegiance to scum, and if he even _wanted_ to leave a little bit of room in his life for something romantic, then I was quite certain Daphne Greengrass took up much less space than I did in all regards.

I straightened up rather stiffly when Professor McGonagall dismissed us an hour later, and slung my schoolbag over my shoulder with a lot more might than usual. I had made up my mind on how to handle this.

"Alright, Malfoy, I'll see you tomorrow. I suppose. And er … thank you for earlier, it was quite—"

"Should I bring some food up for you?" he interrupted.

"What?"

"I'm not sure if you're going to eat in the Great Hall before coming up to meet me or if you're still avoiding Scarhead and company. I'm just going to eat upstairs, personally, so if you want to save time…?"

I hesitated.

"Oh. Well in that case, yes. You can bring me some dinner."

Malfoy nodded expressionlessly and left in the direction of the Great Hall, leaving me somewhat stunned in his wake. I didn't realize he had still planned on meeting in the Room of Requirement. I figured our last meeting there covered just about every possible item on the agenda that could exist.

_And then some_ , I thought as I rubbed my neck, re-living the trail that Malfoy's lips had taken down it. I shook my head and went back into the room to wait for him.

I tried to distract my fragmented thoughts by doing homework, humming the Weird Sisters' new song, and taking a little walk deeper into the room to explore the parts I seldom went to. I paced around the troll in a tutu, leaned thoughtfully against a large stone pillar, and ran my hand over the talking wardrobe that he'd once walked in on me changing inside of, but everything I did was overridden by the taste of him.

Twenty minutes later, I heard the click of the door, and found Malfoy shutting it with two shrunken plates of food in hand. He gave me a civil nod and set everything down on a side table. I thought, during a brief moment of hopeful delusion, that he would sit next to me and silently carry on where we'd left off hours before. I was wrong. He took his usual seat, which was worlds away from mine, and I suddenly found myself with no appetite. I could only hope he'd make the inevitable letdown as quick and painless as possible.

"When did it start?" he asked bluntly.

I glanced at my watch. "About five hours ago, give or take? I think it officially started when you did the thing with your tongue where—"

" _When did you start having feelings for me, Zabini?_ " he said.

"Right. That. I'm not entirely sure. I think it was some time after you wished death upon my family, but some time before—"

"I'm being serious."

I huffed.

"I don't like this interrogation, alright, Malfoy? I really don't! If it's anything like the last time we kissed, then you're just trying to suss out my feelings so you can stomp all over them and I am _not_ going to let you—"

"This isn't last time," he said quickly. "Believe me, Zabini. This is _nothing_ like the last time."

"Then why do you get to sit in the next chair over and ask difficult questions!" I snapped.

He got up from his armchair to move over beside me, and took one of my hands into his. He began to rub gentle circles into the back of it with his thumb.

Alright, so it wasn't like the last time.

I swallowed nervously.

"I guess … I guess when we spent all that time together at St. Mungo's and in the city, I started to realize you weren't so bad. It was actually quite nice to have you with me. And then Christmas came, and you kissed me — which you still haven't properly explained, I don't think, because the Weasley twins are funny and I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss either of them, and Myrtle cries a lot but I've never tried to kiss her to shut _her_ up — and that sort of … showed me what it might be like to actually _be_ with you. And it was a very good kiss at first. Probably a favourite. Definitely a top three. And then … then when you nearly … when Harry …"

I shook my head, still finding myself unable to talk about it.

He squeezed my hand tighter. "It's alright, Zabini, I think I get the idea."

I nodded, relieved that I wouldn't have to go into detail.

"What about you? When did you start feeling this way?" I asked. Malfoy stayed silent for just the right amount of time to make me question my sanity. "Oh. So you erm … so you don't feel—"

"I think it really began the first night we slept in the same bed at Hogwarts," he said.

"Because I flashed you in that wardrobe back there?" I asked uncertainly.

Malfoy snorted. "No, Zabini — because I realized that you were wearing maybe the most disgruntling piece of clothing I had seen on a human being, and I still wanted to spend the evening with you. For a male used to a particular type of bedroom aesthetic—"

"Attractive Slytherin girls in lace slips?" I suggested. He ignored me.

"—I came to realize that this was due to be the first of many times that you'd romantically do my head in."

"What were all the other times?" I asked, nudging him with a grin.

"Nice try, Zabini." His face turned serious. "Who else knows about this? Did you tell anybody about these … feelings? Did you tell Granger?"

"No, of course not," I said. "This isn't exactly something I can comfortably advertise to anybody."

Malfoy nodded. "We're on the same page, then."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

He looked at me pointedly, making me squirm.

"What?" I pressed.

"Look, I refuse to have this whole 'what are we to each other' talk that girls love so much. It's boring and idiotic, and I think we both pretty much know what we are to each other by now."

"Sure, sure. It's a very conventional relationship you and I have. Extremely self-evident," I said sarcastically.

"Zabini…"

"I mean we're obviously not-friends that kiss each other," I carried on. "Freshly rehabilitated enemies. Reluctant co-sleepers. D'you think they make holiday cards for those?"

"Look, whatever it is you want to call it, you know that we can't just … parade it around, right?"

I snorted. "And here I was thinking I could finally bring out the massive poster of your face I keep under my pillow and show the school." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax, Malfoy. I'm perfectly fine with you not telling anybody that I'm your shameful Gryffindor secret."

"You aren't shameful, Zabini," he told me, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me light up inside. "I mean you're a little weird, sure, but under any other circumstances I'd have just told everybody to sod off if they had a problem. It's just that this year … the attention it might bring … I really can't have Potter sticking his nose into my business right now."

I nodded. "I get it."

"We'll have to act normal," he concluded. "Or what used to be normal, I guess. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm personally glad, because it's a little bit difficult for me to teach myself out of trying to hex you every time you say something infuriating in class," I said. "At least this gives me some buffer time to work on it."

"So you're alright with hiding it? Just like that?" he asked, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Yes, Malfoy, I already said I am. But if you want to keep kissing me, then you have to be honest with me in here at least. It's too hard otherwise, trying to figure out what's going through your head."

"You recognize this means that I can't be romantic with you in the corridors?" he pressed.

"Malfoy, what does that even _mean_? What are you supposed to do in the corridors, set up a candlelit dinner?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Ask Pansy; she seemed to have a very clear idea. Not that she'd ever communicate it to me."

"I'll make sure to do that," I said with a half-smile. "Speaking of your friends… specifically Blaise…"

"I'm not telling him shit. I don't know which one of us he actually likes, if either, but the fact that I'm necking his sister can only go over badly."

I could feel my face getting hot at his liberal use of the word 'necking'.

"What? Why are you making that face?"

"This is just so mental, Malfoy," I said, barely containing my laughter as I buried my face in my hands. "This is so, so mental. I can't believe it's happening."

"Well you only have yourself to blame," said Malfoy. "You're the one that launched yourself on me. And in the fucking toilet, no less. What would you have done if some other bloke was in there, mid-business?"

"I'm sorry," I said, tears of mirth now springing from my eyes. "I should have done it somewhere a little more visually pleasing, I admit. I just wanted to hurry up and get it over with. It's been torturing me for weeks."

"Of course. You devised a plan, took matters into your own hands. I get it, Zabini. You know, one time when a girl _really_ liked me, she invited me to the balcony of her villa in Spain at sunset. We were only thirteen then. But what's the difference, really? A view of the Mediterranean Sea and a view of that Creevey kid's trousers around his ankles from under a stall is the same concept when you really think about it."

"Who were you kissing in a Spanish villa at thirteen!" I couldn't help but splutter.

Malfoy smirked and leaned in, cupping my face with his hand. "One truth at a time, Zabini."

"Did you really hate what I did today?" I whispered, our foreheads touching.

He laughed and shook his head. "No. It was fucking ridiculous. I expected no less from you."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to—"

But instead of letting me finish, he cut me off gently with his lips for the second time that day.

It was shockingly easy for me to override the natural state of my brain and get used to getting little tastes of him. It was even easier to justify making room for them in my life. I should've predicted then that that meant I was doomed.

 


	38. Harsher Tones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Can you believe it’s already February? I was thinking about how far away February was while writing this chapter, only to realize that today was the 3rd. Oops. I certainly hope you enjoy this one! I’ll probably have to cut down to posting every two weeks due to the way my schedule is now. Thank you so, so much for your kind words on the last chapter, and for your kudos! Please continue to leave your thoughts as they’re immensely helpful as I try to navigate their relationship. It’s a tricky one to write.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

When I lay in bed later that night, with Hermione's light snoring to my right and Malfoy's lips on my neck reduced to the ghost of a touch, reality began to grip me. Or, rather, the _insanity_ of my current reality.

Frozen, I stared up at the hangings on the bed, willing my heart to stop pounding. Memories of Malfoy began to flash through my brain in the way I imagine your life does when you're moments from death. I remembered him fighting with me at Malfoy Manor when we were eight, getting Pansy to hex me on my eleventh birthday, mocking me at the Yule Ball for going alone. I remembered escaping our mothers in Paris to go exploring on our own, Blaise being too far away to incorporate into this spur-of-the-moment plan. It was the first real time we'd been together just the two of us, and I must say that he'd made an excellent partner in crime until I ended up having to push him off the quay and into the river over something horrible he said. But this year had been so different from anything we'd had before; this year, he had become a downright necessity to me.

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!" I hissed through the darkness, gripped by massive panic at this thought.

Hermione bolted up, her nest of hair flying over her face.

"Whmpf!" she grunted as she raked her curls apart to better see me. "Heidi? Are you … are you alright?"

I swallowed nervously. This had been the first time we'd spoken in ages.

"I …"

She arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish.

_Malfoy and I are on good terms._

"I'm fine," I heard myself say.

_Snogging terms._

"Just a nightmare I think."

Hermione paused, her face shifting like she'd wanted to begin saying something. Clearly thinking the better of it, she laid back down and drew her blankets to her chin. I fought back the urge to yell at her.

The next morning, after a fit of exhausting dreamless sleep, I had awoken with a strengthened resolve that stemmed from frustration and not much else. I was sick of dodging my place at the Gryffindor table, sick of hearing ever-evolving whispers about the (as of latest) mentally addled girl who'd apparently had a few too many Firewhiskeys and hit Harry Potter with a mean right hook. The fact that I had finally found favour with the Slytherins was only serving to irritate me more.

"Zabini! Hey, Zabini!"

I looked up to see one of the kids that had glared at me on my trip to the Slytherin common room with Pansy pushing past the crowd that had gathered outside the Great Hall for breakfast.

"What is it?" I asked as he stopped short of me. He was barely any taller than I was, leading me to suspect that he couldn't be any older than thirteen.

"I'll pay you seven galleons to punch my mate in the face."

I blinked at him. "Come again?"

"Clean punch, like you did to Potter," he explained.

" _What?_ "

"Don't worry, he's into it."

"Are you mental?" I spluttered.

"Is that a no?" he asked, drawing his thick eyebrows together in annoyance.

To my mortification, Harry had briefly appeared within earshot.

"She doesn't wanna do it," the kid called out to someone a few feet away as he slinked away, but not before throwing me an expletive over his shoulder.

"Nice kid," said Harry. "His fault for undershooting, though. Should have offered you twenty."

"Harry, I—"

He was already walking into the Great Hall, Ron not far behind him.

I felt myself twitch sideways, wanting desperately to trace a familiar path to the kitchens and get my food there instead.

_Come on, Heidi, toughen up. Just pretend it's one of the times you and Malfoy were fighting. You never avoided the Great Hall on his account, did you?_

Deep down, I knew that this was well different than a rift with Malfoy, but it was a good enough excuse on the surface to get me walking through the doors. My eyes flew over to a gap between Hermione and Parvati that I could have easily slipped into. I swallowed and kept walking. Perhaps I'd try again at dinner…

I realized that I had managed to walk the length of the table without having found a place to sit. Somewhat embarrassed, I walked back until I found another gap, this time between a group of first years and a pair of fifth years. I grabbed a bowl of porridge and a copy of the _Prophet,_ and flipped it open to find nothing but bad news. More prisoners had gone on the run as of a week ago. Death Eaters were rumoured to have doubled in number.

"Sick bastards," I found myself whispering as I read through an article on muggle killings. A pair of voices drew me out of my reading.

"—doing for Valentine's day?"

"I dunno, Romilda. I've only just broken up with Alexander."

"All I'm saying is that you'd better hurry up, Susanna, or you'll find yourself without a date to Puddifoot's," Romilda Vane said to her friend.

"Well who do you have?" Susanna asked while I tried to calculate exactly how far we were from Valentine's Day. Not far enough, according to my mathematics.

"I'm working on a few. Some you'd disapprove of."

" _Who?_ " pressed Susanna eagerly, her fork forgotten halfway to her mouth as she looked at her friend in anticipation.

"Harry Potter."

"Why would I disapprove of Harry Potter? He's dating Ginny, though. You know that, right?"

"Michael Corner," Romilda continued.

"He's alright."

"Draco Malfoy," she said smugly.

I averted my gaze downwards and took in a huge spoonful of porridge. Neither girl seemed to realize my eavesdropping.

"Draco Malfoy?" said Romilda's friend. "Romi, he's a Slytherin!"

"So? He's a _rich_ Slytherin," she said.

"Isn't that a little bit … weird?"

"Why? I don't think he's dating anyone. And besides, he's quite handsome, isn't he? Just look at him."

My head shot up. Was Malfoy in the Great Hall too? I had grown so used to him avoiding the place that I hadn't even bothered to look.

I looked to the Slytherin table, past the thirteen-year-old that had tried to bribe me, past Pansy and my brother who were deep in conversation, and, sure enough, found him sitting to their left with Greengrass beside him.

"I don't think he'd date a Gryffindor," Susanna mused.

"He's a male, Suze. He'll date anyone as long as they're pretty enough."

I watched him talk to Daphne and noticed, with growing annoyance, that she'd put her hand on his forearm and that he hadn't pulled it away.

"Do you think he's with that blonde girl?" asked Susanna.

I bit hard into a piece of toast as I watched Greengrass lean in towards him.

"I wouldn't be surprised. I heard she's his type," said a third girl whose name I wasn't sure of.

"She looks a little desperate, doesn't she? Crawling all over him?" commented Romilda.

The girl snorted. "Unlike the pictures you took for him? Have you given those to the boys yet, or are you waiting for a good time to do it?"

"Sod off, Alice."

_That_ I couldn't ignore. I turned to Romilda and blinked.

"Hi, Heidi," she said with a smile. I strained to return it. "Pretend you didn't hear that, yeah?"

"…Yeah."

I chugged the last of my juice and got up to leave for class, feeling slightly ill. As I walked through the row of tables, I caught sight of Malfoy once again. He had tugged his shirt up under Daphne's gaze, the pale of his ribs visible. I forced myself to look away and swallowed down my nausea.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Zabini, you're strangling it!" snapped Malfoy as he grabbed our Heaving Fern from me.

"Sprout said to grip firmly," I countered, trying and failing to snatch it back.

"I don't think you fully understand what that means," he lowered his voice, "and I'm not sure that I want any part of my body to be the thing that helps you figure it out," he said, out of Blaise's earshot. Before I could come up with a retort, he continued with "Something got you angry, Zabini?"

I stiffened. "No. What makes you say that?"

"The fact that you were glaring at your desk in Potions and Transfiguration this morning. And at me."

"I think we need to meet after class," I finally managed to say.

"Zabini, we always meet on Fridays."

I clenched my jaw.

"Oh, I see. You were trying to be dramatic. Here, ask me again and I'll pretend to be reluctant about it."

"Why are you in such good spirits!" I snapped, feeling in a rather petty area of my soul that he had no right to be after his show in the Great Hall.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, let's see: I came back from the dead a couple of days ago, where I learned that you'd taken my mother to fucking _Puddifoot's_ of all places. I then got told by Pansy that you punched Harry Potter square in the face, and I had three particularly good cups of coffee this morning."

I frowned.

"You shouldn't drink that much coffee in such a short amount of time. It's bad for your heart."

"It's nice to see you finally care about my heart, Zabini," he said with a smirk.

" _Stop,_ " I mouthed as my brother looked up from his fern with a confused frown.

"Have you written to Dad yet?" Blaise asked, taking the opportunity to inject himself into the conversation.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes."

"No you haven't, you liar. He's asked me about your plans for Easter twice in a row now."

"I never got a letter from _him_."

"That isn't what I asked. I'm warning you right now, you better write to Dad or I'm telling Mum that you're being a right bitch," snapped Blaise.

"It's February, Blaise. I'm not stupid. I know this isn't about Easter. He just wants to get me talking to him again like everything's normal; like he didn't—"

"If you don't write to him by Sunday, I'm going to be speaking to you in much harsher tones."

"Oh no, not your _harsh tones_ ," I said sarcastically, just as Sprout made her rounds towards our workspace.

"Too much talking over here, you three," she commented as she passed by.

"Looks like you'll have to save your 'harsh tones' for later," I whispered mockingly at Blaise.

Malfoy sniggered from beside me and, having found a common target in my brother, I temporarily forgot how cross I was with him. I was reminded of my annoyance not too long after we found ourselves in our room later that evening, however.

"Your brother's right, you know," Malfoy said before I'd even had a chance to put my things down. I wheeled on him.

_"_ _What?"_

Malfoy didn't waiver.

"Blaise is right. You need to write to your father."

My mouth dropped open.

"I don't _need_ to do anything. And don't pry into my business!"

"Right, Zabini. I know how much you hate the idea of prying into one's personal business," he said sardonically.

"When I do it, it's because I care. When you do it, it's because… because…"

"Because I care?" he suggested.

I tried hard not to snort. "Sure. Let's call it that."

Malfoy frowned. "What else are we supposed to call it? Shame on me for not wanting you to do something you'll only end up regretting."

"Speaking of things one regrets," I began, gesturing at him and hoping he'd take the conversation from there.

"Yes?"

I scoffed. He walked past me and sat down nonchalantly in his armchair, infuriating me more.

"I don't really think it's fair that I'm the one that has to say it, Malfoy," I said, following suit and dropping onto my sofa with a huff.

"Say what?"

"That you're regretting what went on between us yesterday. That you want this to stop."

He crossed his arms leaned calmly back in his chair, looking unaffected.

"What tipped you off? The part where I told you I cared about you?"

"The part where you ignored me in Potions today, and berated me in Transfiguration," I replied.

"I thought we agreed to keep this a secret," he said.

"No, we agreed to act _normal,_ " I insisted.

"I didn't ignore you in Potions, I was focused on getting the steps right. And I didn't berate you in Transfiguration, I corrected you."

"In front of everybody, including McGonagall!" I snapped. "And why were you _exposing_ _yourself_ to Daphne Greengrass in the Great Hall this morning?"

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. He uncrossed his arms.

"Please go on. This one I'm actually excited to hear about."

"I saw you pulling up your shirt, letting her take a good long look."

Malfoy wavered for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

"She was asking me how I'd healed up. She thinks you did shit work on the bandages. Did you really use tape?"

"No," I lied, suddenly feeling sheepish.

"Well either way, I was just proving to her that you did a great job, tape notwithstanding. I didn't realize it looked quite so risqué from your position at the Gryffindor table." He smirked. "Were those first years you were sitting beside today, by the way?"

"There were fifth years too!" I snapped defensively. "And — wait, how do you know?"

"I was _looking_. You realize I look at you, right? It sort of comes with the territory of kissing you," he said with a half-smile.

I let this sentence sink in.

"I didn't," I admitted.

Feeling quite embarrassed now, I took to picking at my nails while thinking furiously of a way to legitimize what I was now starting to recognize was senseless worrying.

"They're after you, you know," I mumbled darkly.

I noticed him grow visibly stiffer.

"Who?"

I remained silent.

"Zabini, _who_ is after me?"

"All the girls."

He let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Romilda Vane's got pictures for you, and I don't think they're of her face."

He scrunched his nose up. "Isn't she in the same house and year as the Weaslette?"

"You mean _my_ house? Yeah, Malfoy, she is. Don't act like you wouldn't like it; she's going around telling everyone that you're rich _and_ handsome."

"How dare she spread such misinformation!" he said in mock outrage before grinning. "Zabini, are you already jealous? It's been a day."

"I'm not jealous," I lied. "I'm just … wary."

"Wary?"

"Yes. I'm being cautious, now that I've got some sense back into me. It's one thing to be kissed by you once, but it's a whole other thing to be able to think … to let myself believe that you want to… to be…"

"Believe it."

I threw my hands up.

"I'm sorry, you literally _commissioned_ Crabbe to ask me to the Yule Ball in front of everybody and reject me before I could even make the word 'no' come out of my mouth. It was humiliating! And now you expect me to accept — the universe to accept — that this is real? I know what you're into, Malfoy. I've seen it, and I've heard _all_ about it from Daphne, and Pansy, and Tracey, and—"

"I had no idea you were such an expert on my romantic preferences, Zabini."

I crossed my arms and looked straight ahead. I felt the sofa shift beside me.

"Go on. What is it I'm into, then?"

I refused to answer, determined to be stubborn. I inhaled sharply as I felt him push my hair aside.

"Tell me," he muttered, hot breath bouncing off my cheek. "Since you know all about it."

"Not short Gryffindor virgins, I know that much," I said, tapping into as much dignity as my tone could afford me with his lips on my neck. He paused what he was doing and, after a moment of contemplation, withdrew from me.

"You're right, Zabini. I don't know why I bother arguing with you anymore. I should know by now that you're always right."

I turned to him in disappointed shock.

"I am?"

He nodded gravely. "I know it's shallow, but now that you've brought it to my attention I don't think I can surmount it after all. "

I tried not to let my upset show.

"I mean, I've been telling Longbottom for _years_ now that there's nothing I hate more than a short Gryffindor virgin, but he just _won't_ stop _trying_. I think he's in love with me."

I found him grinning.

"Screw you, Malfoy," I snapped, pushing him sideways.

"Not with that grip."

" _Malfoy!_ "

He sniggered and put an arm around me.

"I'm sorry, Zabini, it's just too easy with you. Or some things are, at least."

"Nothing's easy with you," I muttered darkly. "Not a damn thing."

After a moment of intense inner debate, I allowed myself to lean into him and found yesterday's uncertainty disappearing with each stroke of his fingers through my hair.

"So you just accept that you fancy me? Just like that? You're not in denial?" I asked.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Denial?"

"After years of telling everybody how horrifically disfigured I was, you woke up today, reflected on kissing me and said to yourself, 'yeah, that makes sense'?"

"I never said it made sense, Zabini. But I'm not going to shy away from the one thing that's keeping me sane. Not with the turn my life's taken this year."

"I thought you said I drove you _in_ sane," I remarked.

"I think the net effect is positive, ironically enough. As for your disfigurement …" His eyes went south. "Well we both know that's not the case now, don't we?"

I couldn't help but smile a little. "I suppose."

"And what about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"Do you still accept your feelings for me? Because if I recall correctly, Zabini, I think you once said you'd make it your mission in life to 'eradicate' mine."

I felt a twang of guilt.

"Malfoy, I want you to live more than I've ever wanted anything in my life." I met his gaze in earnest. "I mean it."

The horrible memory of him convulsing in a pool of his blood coupled with the sheer miracle that he was here with me, warm and alive and sarcastic as ever, made it unthinkable not to kiss him. So I did.

He kissed me back just as eagerly and, before I knew it, we'd ended up horizontal due in part to a few quickly-executed maneuvers on my part, and a few on his. Suddenly, he broke his lips away from mine.

"What?" I asked, panicking slightly as our uncompromising position dawned on my brain. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"I'm just looking at you," Malfoy said, candlelight flickering off of his face. His eyes were brilliant even when the rest of the room was dim. "Why, am I not supposed to look at you?"

I wrinkled my nose. "It's weird."

He smiled. I rolled my eyes and pulled his mouth back to mine, deciding that there were far better things he should have been doing with his time than looking at me.

I became acutely aware that his hand had left my cheek, and was beginning to roam slowly up my leg. I returned it to its original position, eliciting a small laugh against my lips. My own hand, hypocrite that it was, had begun to make a journey through his hair, down his chest, up his arm—

Malfoy pulled away sharply, yanking his sleeve down.

"Did I hurt you?" I gasped.

He shook his head.

"What is it, then?"

"Nothing," he muttered as he shifted off of me. His gaze had suddenly turned dark, heavy under the weight of some sort of undoubtedly troubled thoughts.

"It's not nothing, Malfoy. I know that look."

He stared at his hands. "You shouldn't put it on display like that."

"Put what on display?" I asked, before realizing what he was alluding to. "Do you mean the Mark?"

Malfoy stayed silent, but by the clench of his jaw, I could tell that was a yes.

"I've seen it tons of times, Malfoy. You sleep with no shirt on half the time."

He shook his head, still refusing to look at me. "That's different."

"How?"

"It just fucking is, Zabini. It's one thing to see it when I'm going to bed. It's another thing to stare at it and touch it while I'm kissing you on the fucking mouth."

"I wasn't—"

"It isn't part of this!" he said angrily, and I was beginning to think that he was trying mostly to convince himself.

"Okay," I breathed, heart pounding as I sat back up. "Okay, Malfoy. It isn't part of this."

He buried his head in his hands, and I distinctly heard the word ' _fuck_ ' leave the space between his palms.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely.

Malfoy sighed, looking no happier.

"Don't be sorry, Zabini. It just has to be dealt with, that's all."

"I know. I…I think I might have an idea of where to start," I said, a brilliant and currently ill-disposed friend coming to mind.

Malfoy frowned. "What is it?"

"I don't want to tell you yet," I admitted.

"That's convincing," he said with a badly hidden eye-roll.

"I'll tell you soon. I just don't want to get your hopes up."

Malfoy sighed. "Fine, Zabini, whatever."

"It might help if you explained a little how exactly you ended up joining in the first place, because all I know is that you popped up at my house one day this summer having suddenly—"

"It's late. Maybe you should head back to your room," he said.

I frowned, feeling like I'd missed some sort of detail.

"It's Friday night. Aren't we supposed to be… sleeping together?"

Malfoy raked a hand through his hair. "Pomfrey gave me something before discharging me. It's been helping."

"Oh. So we no longer have to…?"

"No."

I tried to push down an unexpected wave of disappointment.

"Good. I guess it would be a little too much, now that we're…"

"Yeah."

I glanced reluctantly at my watch.

"I guess I'd better go, then. Don't want Filch to get at me for being out too late."

Malfoy nodded.

"Goodnight, Zabini."

"Night, Drac—Malfoy."

I closed the door behind me with a lump in my throat. What the hell had I done? I replayed it over and over again in my mind as I trekked to the dungeons, trying to find the exact moment where it all had gone so south. Contrary to his belief, I hadn't made a show of touching the Mark at all. In fact, I realized with a sinking feeling of guilt that I'd forgotten all about it in the moment.

The anxiety busied my mind all through the journey to my room, interrupting itself only when I approached my bed and, though the dark, saw Hermione sitting at the foot of it. She looked up at me sheepishly.

"Hi, Heidi."

 


	39. Personal Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I might be a maniac. Clearly, every time I prepare myself to give up writing in favour of more pressing responsibilities, I post a new chapter instead. And, of course, when I promise to post a new one in one week's time instead of two, then that one will inevitably be late. We're learning, okay? ;)
> 
> I am shocked that we're almost at Chapter 40. We're certainly at least halfway done, if not more. I am so incredibly grateful for your very kind comments, and for bookmarking/subscribing and leaving kudos. Your comments in particular have been super helpful in getting me to decide where to go with this, as I had a few options in mind. Please do continue to leave your thoughts if you have them. Other than that, I hope you enjoy the chapter and have a wonderful week (or two)!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Hi," I responded cautiously, looking around to see if there was anybody else occupying the beds, and concluding that there wasn't.

"Exciting night?" she asked.

"What?"

"Your hair's a bit messy," Hermione said.

I brought my hand to the back of my head and felt the knot that had collected there from my adventures with Malfoy. It left me afraid to know what the front looked like.

"You might want to brush it out or Parvati will get suspicious you were doing something scandal-worthy when she comes in," she continued.

I tried to appear unfazed while a sheen of moisture collected on my palms.

"You're one to talk," I said as I gestured to her dishevelled curls. "Had a Ronald-infused Friday night, have you?"

Hermione stiffened and crossed her arms. "Yes I did."

A small, upward curve hit her mouth and, before I knew it, she had burst into contagious giggles. By the time we had recovered, the ache in my chest that Malfoy had left had transformed into a laughter-induced stomach cramp. _Like old times,_ I couldn't help but think.

"Do you want to get some tea?" she asked.

"Hermione, it's almost midnight. There's nothing in the Great Hall."

She shook her head. "Kitchens."

A few minutes later, we were sat at a huge wooden table with a hot cup of tea each.

"I don't know how you drink that stuff," she said as she pulled her own cup to her lips. "Mint. I can't stand the taste of it."

I looked down into my cup with a small smile.

"I suppose it's an acquired taste."

"I just hate the feeling after. Like your whole mouth's gone cold," Hermione said as she sipped on a chamomile blend.

My smile wavered slightly as I reflected on the way he'd all but forced me out of the room. I supposed it had gone cold after all.

"Why are you talking to me?" I asked. The question had come steamrolling out of my mouth, and the bluntness seemed to have made her all the more awkward. "You've been ignoring me for ages."

"We can't do this forever, don't you think?" she muttered after a moment, cradling her cup and looking ashamed. "It isn't us."

But instead of relief that she was offering an olive branch, I found myself feeling rather conflicted at the idea of it all.

"I don't know."

"You… don't know?" she repeated, looking concerned.

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?"

I didn't know how to explain the way everything had shifted, as if somebody had flipped the world on its head. Dread at the sight of my friends. Elation at the sight of Malfoy. It was the cruellest of jokes, and maybe the most delicious of them. But it left me without footing and I suddenly realized how little I knew of what 'us' was supposed to mean in reference to anybody anymore.

"It's never been us before but … but maybe it's us now," I reasoned.

"It's not," she said sternly. "I don't know why you'd say something like that after all these years."

"Ron won't even look at me. Harry only talks in short, spiteful sentences. I can feel Ginny glaring every time I see her in the common room. I never thought I'd get that from all of you. Other people, yes. But not from you."

"We never expected you to attack Harry, either," Hermione said, looking aghast.

"Harry went absolutely rogue and we all know it. This isn't how we do things. We don't ambush people in lavatories unprovoked, threatening them into submission, and we _certainly_ don't use spells like—"

"It was self-defence. Harry had no choice but—"

"You know, you've never been to my house," I said, the thought suddenly striking me.

"…What?"

"You've never been to my house," I repeated. "You've been to Ron and Ginny's a million times, but you've never been to mine. Why do you think that is?"

Hermione looked lost.

"I … I don't know why, Heidi. I suppose I've never really been invited."

"Yes you have. Every summer I've known you."

"Right, but then you always end up writing some sort of excuse that—"

"My father doesn't like Muggles, that's why. My mother's neutral, I suppose — erring on the side of caution. She doesn't hate them, and she even likes some of the Muggle fashion, but she definitely doesn't consider them equals. My father never trusted them, though. And he dislikes Muggleborns even more than Muggles themselves, if you can believe it. Always thought they'd steal from the house, the way they stole the magic. As if they'd done it to him personally."

Hermione looked visibly hurt. I took a sip of the tea, relishing the hit of cold behind my teeth, and continued.

"I begged so hard to have you though. Begged every summer, without exception. It was probably mortifying for my mother, watching me cry and beg and scream at my father just to have you guys come. Some Potter kid, a Muggleborn and a blood traitor. At worst, it was horrific for them. At best, they just didn't understand it. So every _fucking_ summer, they forced Malfoy on me instead. But I never stopped begging. D'you know why?"

Hermione shook her head slowly.

"I never stopped begging because you guys were the absolute best thing that ever happened to me at this school. I don't even know if you understand the extent to which you all changed my life. Gryffindor didn't mean anything until you; all my sorting did was leave me scared and disappointed. I wanted Ravenclaw like my mother, see, but the hat didn't want me wasting my 'fire'. I thought it was a trick. I'd spent the night before bawling over something Parkinson had done; no fire there, that was for sure."

I shook my head at the memory and took another sip.

"That first month at school was horrible. Malfoy mocked me every day, even threatened to owl my mother and tell her which house I'd been sorted into. I'd lied to her, you see. Told her I was a Ravenclaw and paid Blaise half my allowance to keep his mouth shut. But the second month? It was better than all the years before it put together. Ron and Harry found me crying in the trophy room after Malfoy finally _had_ owled my mother and snitched, and Ron said — and I distinctly remember this because it felt like the first time this fact had been drawn to my attention — 'What are you so sad for? Malfoy might act tough, but you actually _are_ tough. Hat proves it, doesn't it?'. Then he told me they were planning to punch Malfoy in the nose next time he talked crap anyway, but would be happy to mention that it was in my honour."

Hermione smiled at this.

"'You _are_ tough'. It sounds almost stupid repeating it now. But for an eleven-year-old girl it opened up a whole new world. No one had _ever_ made me feel like I stood a chance against Malfoy's stupid gang before. And you want to know the best part?"

She nodded as she poured herself another cup.

"The best part is that they didn't have to do anything in my honour; the next time we saw Malfoy, I punched him myself."

"I remember that!" she said with a laugh. "By the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, right?"

"Right across from it. Malfoy went totally slack-jawed, I remember that for sure. I like to think I saw tears too," I said. "We really fell into our ways after that, I think. Started having a real, proper, two-sided rivalry. I wasn't just sitting in the corner anymore. And I'd been happily putting him in his place every year since. Hell, I came to school this year with every intention of continuing, but … it isn't a fair fight this year, Hermione."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because he isn't the same. It would only be kicking him while he's down. And the thing is, I don't think I need to kick him at all anymore. We've sort of found a way around it."

Hermione's eyebrows crept up.

"I know, I know! It's possibly the last thing anybody expected. But he's being good. Completely manageable. Not at all cruel."

"I don't know…"

"He's apologized to me for some of it. I think he really does regret some of the things he did when we were younger. And that's enough for me to get extremely angry when Harry suggests that he ought to have _died_. I don't want Malfoy to die. I want Malfoy to be better. I want all of them to be better, and I know not all of them will, but if even some of them—"

"Heidi, please just apologize. Apologize to Harry, and he'll forget all about it," Hermione pleaded. "I miss you, and I _know_ they miss you too."

I stared down at my cup, and felt my eyes grow wet with tears.

"You're all so important to me. I love you all so much."

"But?" said Hermione nervously.

"But I know Harry isn't sorry that he almost killed him. You can't be sorry, but 'only if they aren't a Death Eater'. That's not how it works. You're either alright with mutilating somebody or you aren't."

"But Malfoy was going to use an Unforgivable on Harry, wasn't he?" she said. "He was about to use the Cruciatus curse. You don't deny that, do you?"

It was a statement of fact, and even though it grated against my skin, I couldn't fault her for it.

"No," I said. I was relieved to find that it was an effortless admission. I hoped that it was evidence that I'd managed to stay sane and sober-headed even though his hands had roamed all over me. "It was wrong of Malfoy, and even if I demand why he did it, there likely isn't a justification. I don't fault Harry for reacting. But I do fault him for the way he behaved about it afterwards. Hermione, we cannot _become_ them while we're trying to fight them. It is incredibly important to me that we don't. If we do, then everything I've ever thought about us and myself after all these years means _nothing_."

She looked down at her hands, deep in contemplation.

"I need your help with something, Hermione."

Hermione's gaze met mine with a small frown.

"What is it?"

"I want to learn more about the war. The first one. And … and if anybody ever made it out from You-Know-Who's circle. But I don't know where to start. The library is massive and I don't want to alarm Pince by asking questions of … that nature."

"Why do you want to learn about the Death Eaters?" she asked, looking perplexed.

I swallowed nervously.

"I found something out this year. But you have to swear not to tell anybody, especially not Harry and Ron. Not now, at least. I'm afraid they'll think even less of me if they know, particularly with how they're being lately."

"What did you learn, Heidi?" Hermione asked slowly.

"Do you swear not to tell them?" I asked, extending my hand in a pact.

She hesitated. Chewed her lip. Looked down nervously. It felt like ages before she clasped her hand in mine.

"I swear not to tell them."

I glanced around to make sure none of the House-Elves were too close by.

"I think somebody close to me was involved."

Hermione looked horrified. "With Voldemort?"

"Yes. But every time I ask him about it, he shuts down completely. It's useless asking. From what I understand, though, he's got an interesting story. He's managed to navigate You-Know-Who really adeptly. It might help us gain some insights if we look into it."

"Wait, so this person … he joined voluntarily?"

"I don't know much about the details."

She leaned in with a whisper. "Heidi, exactly how close are you with this person?"

"About as close as I can get," I admitted. "It's my father."

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I made my way through the dungeons the following Sunday sore and sweaty from Quidditch practice, and in terrible spirits from the way Harry had managed to order me around while stubbornly ignoring me on a personal level. Our match with Ravenclaw was on the coming Friday and, according to Harry, we were in 'bad form'. To make matters worse, Malfoy had decided to avoid me ever since his panic over the Mark, leaving me to wonder what the point of taking either side was if they were both just going to turn on me in the end. The only positive thing in sight was the fact that Hermione had agreed to help me research every day after our lessons.

I winced and touched my shoulder. I'd fallen on the pitch, and the scratches were starting to sting; the wool of my cardigan was rubbing against them in a horrible way. The only thing that seemed to have kept me going was the idea that I could take a nice, warm—

I stopped short as Malfoy rounded the corner and began walking my way. He seemed to be looking over my head as he drew closer, and he was just tall enough that he could get away with calling it an accident. But I knew it wasn't an accident. I knew that over the years his eyes had become trained to see me in the way a predator's were trained to notice prey no matter how small.

Malfoy didn't 'fail to notice' me. The bastard was _ignoring_ me.

"Having a good Sunday?" I asked as I stepped into his trajectory, arms crossed.

A tiny, nearly-imperceptible wince — probably at the realization that this wouldn't be so easy. Then, some hesitant eye contact. Finally, a small, impassive nod, followed by a brisk attempt to walk past me.

Anybody who knew of our history would have interpreted that nod as a sign of civility. Progress. But I recognized it immediately as the nod of somebody attempting to deny that their tongue had been in my mouth.

"Malfoy!" I called, wheeling around after him. He kept walking, acting as though he hadn't heard me.

_Malfoy might act tough._

" _Malfoy!_ " I said again. He stiffened. Kept walking.

_But you_ _are_ _tough._

"Don't act like you can't hear me, _Draco_ , because I know you can! _Draco Lucius Mal_ —"

He turned around suddenly, hands in his pockets. Casual. "You shouldn't call me by my first—"

" _Draco. DracoDracoDraco._ Shit, it really does get easier to say each time!" I remarked, taking a few steps towards him. "Just like it's getting easier to kiss each oth—"

"Zabini, not now. I'm tired."

"You're always tired," I told him coldly. "And you always, _always_ do this. And I _never_ fucking get told why."

"Do what?" he asked through an unaffected stare.

I laughed humourlessly.

"You're ending it, right? You've already decided. And without me, obviously, because why would my opinion matter," I said resentfully.

Silence.

I shook my head at the absurdity of it all.

"' _It's real, Zabini'. 'Believe it, Zabini'. 'I'm not going to shy away from the one thing that's keeping me sane, Zabini_ '. Are you _kidding_ me? This was three days ago. Three."

"We'll address it at a more appropriate—"

"We'll address it now," I snapped.

"In the middle of the dungeons?"

"Can't talk about it in the Room, can we?" I crossed my arms stubbornly. "Since I can't get into the Room, that is. I tried all day yesterday, and nothing worked. Any idea why, Malfoy?"

"You can get in if you're with me," he deflected.

"I could without you, too. Until very recently, that is."

"You don't need to be hiding in there by yourself when I'm not around. You should be with your friends, Zabini. We both know it. In fact, why don't you try to find them now? As for me, I'm rather busy."

" _Fuck you,_ " I spat. "You don't get to do this again. I don't know who let you get away with this bullshit so much that you have it perfected, but I'm not one of those people."

"Look, what we—"

"Don't bother lying. I already know it's real. You might have been able to deny it the first time, but now? After saying all those things? After touching me like _that_? Don't even try to go there, Malfoy. You'll only make an idiot of yourself."

Malfoy sighed and rubbed his neck uncomfortably.

"It's got nothing to do with touching you, Zabini."

I pointed at him accusingly. "Whatever you came up with in your sad, exhausted brain is utter crap and you know it."

"Look, I underestimated some personal circumstances. What else is new? Fuck, I never would have initiated any of this if it wasn't for…"

"So it's my fault?" I said with a scoff.

"It isn't a _fault_. I … this isn't the time for us. I was careless—"

"How were you going to break it to me? Were you going to slip a note into my bag? ' _No more kissing, Zabini'? 'Sorry, Zabini, you're ugly again'_?"

"You aren't ug—"

"Don't tell me you were going to leave it unaddressed and pretend it never happened. Merlin, that would have been even stupider!"

"I was going to tell you," he said.

"When?"

He hesitated. "When the timing was appropriate."

I gaped at him, at a loss for words. The dull throb that had built up in my temples from all my other stressors amplified tenfold, and it was soon joined by nausea.

"Malfoy, I can't even think about this right now," I said, rubbing my temples. "My week is absolutely packed to the brim. I've got a Quidditch match after class on Friday that I am _not_ ready for, and I've entirely filled my evenings with other things."

"What other things?"

I held a hand up.

"Shut up. Here's what we're going to do, you absolutely _pathetic_ arse. Since you haven't completely ruined this despite getting dangerously close, I'm going to give you until next Friday night to come up with a better answer than 'I underestimated some personal circumstances'. I strongly urge you to reconsider unilaterally wrecking this before it even had a proper chance to begin. My Quidditch match should be done at seven. I can come for eight thirty."

Malfoy sighed. "Why do we need to make such a big—"

"Because my feelings fucking _matter_ , Malfoy. It's not all about you. This involves both of us."

I was pleased to see him concede this for once by saying "Fine. I'll meet you by the entrance to the Room."

"Oh, no. No no. I'm not discussing this in that horrible, stuffy room. I lose my mind in there, especially when I've got your stupid lips on my … never mind that. We're going to the Astronomy Tower so that I can breathe some clean fucking air for once. The option to throw you off is just a bonus, really."

"Zab—"

"My name is Heidi. I'm fairly certain that if you're capable of snogging me, _and_ capable of ruining my Sunday evening in quite such a personal way, you are more than capable of calling me by my first name."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Are the theatrics really necessary, Zabini?"

"'Are the theatrics really necessary, _Heidi?_ ' _"_ I corrected him sweetly.

He cursed under his breath before playing along. "Have it your way, _Heidi_."

"I will, Malfoy, thanks. Have a nice evening," I said as I pushed past him. "I hope you sleep well."

 


	40. Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe we are already at Chapter 40? What on this good Earth? Hopefully it continues to be worth the read! Huge thank you to everyone who read/bookmarked/subscribed/gave kudos/sent good vibes. I send my good vibes back tenfold! Feel free to let me know your thoughts if you have any, and if not, I hope you enjoy anyway!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"This is going to be tricky," said Hermione as we wandered through the library stacks. "The school library doesn't exactly focus much on the modern dark arts per se, and if they did, it would probably be in the restricted section. Although…"

"Although what?" I asked hopefully.

"Perhaps we could tackle it from more of a historical-political perspective. I know there's some mention of the First Wizarding War in _Hogwarts: A History._ Of course, not much of it took place here, so it only really talks about Dumbledore. There's nothing on the actual structure of the Death Eaters as an organization."

She paused to drop a handful of books into my arms.

"Maybe some of the books the Ministry put out might go into detail but … well, they'll be heavily edited, of course. Still worth looking into, if only for some semi-cold leads."

Another three books landed on top of the pile.

"Oh! There might be something useful from Harry and Ron's booklist. I think Tonks gave them something good, though I'll have to ask them what it's called."

By the time she added four more hardcover tomes, even my generally well-trained arms had begun to quiver under the weight, and I was more than thrilled to hear her say 'that'll give us a good start for now'.

We found a table in a dark back corner of the library. I lit a lantern quickly with my wand and grabbed the first book I saw: _Ministry Confounded_ by Gregory Westbourne.

"A lot of that one will be useless — it's talks mostly about when Nobby Leach was Minister. I think there was some sort of plot Malfoy's grandfather was involved in that drove him out of office for being a Muggleborn."

"Unsurprising," I muttered bitterly.

"The last little bit talks about You-Know-Who's rise afterwards, though, and how the two Ministers after Leach didn't handle it properly. You might want to look closely to see what's in there. I've never read it so I don't know."

I nodded as I skimmed the table of contents, making a note to criticize Malfoy for his generally deplorable ancestors.

"I can't believe I've never thought about doing this," said Hermione as she grabbed a heavy, leather-bound volume called _Great Wizarding Rivalries._ "I mean it only makes sense, doesn't it? If you want to beat something then you'll want to know all the inner workings. The only problem is that so much of this is undocumented; it all goes on within You-Know-Who's ranks. I wish we had access to some first-hand accounts. Are you sure you can't ask your father more about what you think he knows?"

I stiffened.

"We don't talk much these days. And I suppose that's saying something, because we hardly talked _before_ all this."

"Oh," said Hermione, looking sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Apparently it was a long time coming, this divorce. I just never noticed. I'm sort of an idiot that way."

"Did Blaise know?" she asked.

"Even _Malfoy_ knew. But they don't exactly keep me in the loop with anything," I said resentfully. "Anthony was actually the one to bring all this Death Eater business to my attention. I can't believe I never put it together, I'm so stupid. I thought my father was just old-fashioned, I never thought he…"

"Do you know for a fact that he joined, though? I mean, I've never met him, but it seems so bizarre that somebody so close to you would be a marked supporter of You-Know-Who."

I sighed. "I've never seen the Mark on him, but I've never really looked. Anthony's dad worked for the Ministry and apparently looked into him back in the day. If he gave them cause to worry then I can only assume that he … that we weren't neutral."

My nostrils couldn't help but flare in anger. I had grown up being told — no, force-fed — that we'd been neutral through the whole war, and for decades before and after it. I should have known better; should have recognized that my childhood had been built on blood money after all. It had gotten too lavish too quickly, with too heavy a dose of Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione looked at me sympathetically, and it made me want to recoil from her. When she put a friendly hand on mine, however, I couldn't help but believe the next words that fell from her mouth.

"No one in their right mind could ever think you were neutral, Heidi Zabini. I don't care what your family's done. I know you're on our side."

I nodded, at a loss for what to say.

"C'mon, let's start. We might get through all of these by the time we have to get back to the common room."

So we began reading, stopping occasionally to point something out to the other, or to sigh and toss a book into the 'Not Useful' pile accumulating at our table.

"Hang on," said Hermione, tapping furiously at a paragraph. "You're looking to see if anybody defected before, right?"

I qualified her sentence with 'successfully'.

"Well I don't know about that, but it mentions a Death Eater that testified against them at trial and then went into hiding. Somebody named Hawley … oh, wait. Murdered a month later on holiday in Malta."

My insides churned at this.

"Keep looking," I insisted.

"Why are you so interested in defectors again?" asked Hermione.

"I told you, I want to see if my father's mentioned anywhere. And it's generally informative, I think, looking at it from that angle."

Hermione contemplated this and, to my great relief, nodded and returned to reading. After two more hours of this, my eyes had begun to burn.

"Sickening, isn't it?" muttered Hermione as she looked up from the final book she'd placed in her pile earlier. "The brutality of the ideology. It's bad enough that they murder innocent people for sport, not a single reason in mind other than blood status. But the way they murder each other afterwards — the way _he_ murders them when he's done — makes you really wonder what would make a person sign on to this in the first place."

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I had picked a good night to ascend to the top of the tower, all things considered. The wind was light and the stars were out, the earlier freezing rain having stopped shortly after our Quidditch match.

I contemplated briefly what the chances were that he wouldn't come — that he truly didn't give a damn about me.

_Exceptionally high_ , I concluded. As a result of this, I was mildly surprised when I heard a drawl from beside me.

"Congratulations on your win, _Heidi._ "

I turned to Malfoy and took him in. He was collected and reserved, unlike last time when he'd practically run from me. I'd bet my entire fortune thrice over that he had devised a plan the minute he consented to meeting, and that he had come equipped with a conceived trajectory of where exactly the evening was going to go.

But then again, I hadn't exactly shown up without some tricks up my sleeve either.

"Don't even start," I said, holding a hand up. "I already know, alright? Harry chewed me out for it an hour ago."

"Chewed you out for what?" Malfoy asked, looking puzzled.

"Backhanding a bludger cross-pitch at Chang and going 'against the tone of the game'. He doesn't believe me when I say that Chambers was—"

"Gearing up to do the same to him. I saw that, Zabini. It was a good call on your part; Potter can stuff it."

"Saw it? Saw it from _where?_ " I blurted. I could spot that white-blond head anywhere. In fact, I was doubly-relieved at its absence during the game; it allowed me to focus on my flying for once.

"The castle does have windows, you know," he said with a snort.

I said nothing at this, but took in a deep breath of fresh air. 'Mudblood' and the Cruciatus. They had been tugging at my brain ever since Hermione and I had met up two nights before. I'd found that a lot of things were able to leave my mind when his lips started doing their work on me. But not this.

"Do you believe that Hermione Granger deserves to die?" I asked plainly as I looked over the railing of the Astronomy Tower.

"What?" he asked, sounding taken aback.

"Hermione Granger. My friend, your schoolmate. Do you think she deserves to die?" I repeated.

"Did somebody give you Firewhisk—"

"For being a 'Mudblood', I mean. D'you think she deserves to be eradicated for being a Mudblood?"

"I think she deserves to be eradicated for being the swottiest—"

"I'm being serious," I said.

"Yes, I can see that through your completely deranged line of questioning. Christ, if I had known you were going to—"

"Think about it earnestly, Malfoy. It's a simple question. Would you kill Hermione Granger for being a Mudblood? Or would you torture her instead? Maybe pass her on to one of your friends so they could do it too?"

"That's not really my kink, Zabini," he said warily. I could tell he had no idea where this was going and was none-too-excited to find out.

"What if somebody ordered you to?"

"I'm a tad busy tonight, alright? I'll gladly torture your Muggleborn friend for you some other time."

"See, you just said Muggleborn," I remarked coolly. "That's the sort of thing that confuses me."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'm suicidal enough to call her a Mudblood in front of you while standing on the tallest tower in the school? I take self-preservation seriously, unlike your Gryffindor arse. But don't get any bleeding-heart ideas; there's no love lost between myself and Granger." He smirked. "In any capacity."

I snorted. "I'm not worried. She's far too clever to go for you."

"Ouch."

"And what about me, Malfoy?" I continued.

"What about you?"

I peeled myself away from the railing and took a step towards him.

"Do you think I deserve to die?"

At this, Malfoy screwed his face up into an expression that all but questioned my sanity.

"Why the fuck would I think _you_ deserve to die?"

I stared at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm only a _blood traitor_. Wait, did you already forget? Don't they tell you to keep track of these things on a little chart when you join? 'Heidi Zabini — blood traitor. Gryffindor. Veela-esque level of attractiveness.' I'll write it in for you if you give me the parchment."

Malfoy scoffed.

"As fun as this is, Zabini, I still don't understand what you're trying to say."

"My point is that for a Death Eater who keeps talking big about how dangerous he is, you're really not up to snuff on the ideology, are you? Where's the danger, Malfoy? What have you actually _done_?"

Malfoy grew visibly stiffer. "Zabini, you don't know what you're talking about. Trust me."

"Then tell me!" I said, and for the first time that night, I sounded desperate. "None of this makes sense, Malfoy. You want me to help you, but you won't tell me _anything_. And then you say that you like me, you _swear_ that it's real, but three days later you're ending it without even talking to me. The only thing I can think of is that you lied about how you felt from the start, and kissed me all those times just because you knew I was there to scratch the itch. But that would be extreme, Malfoy, even for you."

"I didn't lie!" he snapped. "You're just not getting it, are you? You keep demanding information out of me, without thinking for one second about the — do you even know Occlumency, Zabini?"

I frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Malfoy shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, and I couldn't help but commend him for not voicing what was clearly on his mind.

"I can only tell you anything if you know how to block your mind from being attacked," he explained calmly. The calm didn't last long. "I mean, you're bad enough as it is, Zabini! You're completely open, you don't even try to shut yourself off!"

"Well I'm sorry that I'm an emotionally available teenage girl, Malfoy, and not a sixteen-year-old grouch in a five-hundred galleon suit," I snapped.

"I don't understand why you think this is a frivolity!" he said angrily. "Stronger witches than you have died for much less information!"

"I don't think Occlumency is a frivolity," I argued. "I just want you to stop shutting yourself away from me. I want to know what we're dealing with, so that I can support you in doing the right thing." I bit my lip. This would be a long-shot. "I think we're better together. In all ways."

Malfoy looked at me desperately.

"It's too late, Zabini. Far too late."

"What's too late?"

"What you're doing. I appreciate it immensely, but it is _too late_. I can't be responsible for involving you in—"

"I'm not a child! I think I can decide what and who I want to be involved with!" I said.

_"_ And I am _deciding_ , Zabini, that _I_ do not want to be involved with _you_ ," Malfoy said through grit teeth. "I'm fairly certain it takes two of us to be in a relationship, no? I don't understand how much clearer I'm supposed to be! Why can't you be like all the others and sod off when I tell you I'm done!"

"Because it doesn't make any sense!" I protested. "I am not leaving until you start making some bloody sense! I'm sick of this game, Malfoy! I'll leave the minute you tell me _why_ you want to end this all of a sudden. What did I do? What could I possibly have done in _three days_ that made you—"

Malfoy hissed and dug his fingers into his scalp.

"I swear to Merlin you're going to be the bloody death of — I CARE ABOUT YOU TOO MUCH, ZABINI! I. CARE. ABOUT. YOU. TOO. MUCH. TO. DO. THIS. TO. YOU."

The roar of words hung in the air, neither of us seeming to know what to do with them. I stared at him, mouth dry, breath hitched, for far more heartbeats than I wanted to.

"Shit, you're one of those," I blurted finally, shocked at this turn of events.

"What?" snapped Malfoy.

"I—I just didn't realize you were one of those. I thought you got bored or something. I didn't know it was because … _Merlin_ , you've changed."

"One of what, Zabini?" repeated Malfoy, now looking concerned.

"One of those people. You know, those noble, 'for the greater good' types. Harry's one of those. I just never noticed _you_ becoming—"

Malfoy glared at me as if I'd never said anything more insulting to him in our entire sixteen years of existence, leading me to realize I needed desperately to change tactics.

I took a step towards him and he took one back, so I took two more for good measure.

"So then … you do want me, after all?" I murmured as I slipped my hand into his, carefully interweaving our fingers. Malfoy swallowed nervously as I did the same with the other one. "You know, in _that_ way?"

"Are you trying to kill me with this conversation, Zabini?" he asked hoarsely.

"Do you?" I pressed, closing the distance between us as much as I could.

"What?"

I stood on tip-toes so that I could reach his ear.

"Want me?" I whispered. I was going out on a limb, replicating what I had seen girls like Parkinson do. Part of me was fully prepared to hear him say no. It would only be natural.

"Stop it, Zabini!" he hissed. "Of course I want you, alright? I want you! But that doesn't change anything! I'm still fucked!"

I let his admission sink in and felt a stir somewhere in my stomach… somewhere lower …

_I want you._

"Then tell me what to do, so that I can help you! Please, _please_ just tell me. Tell me how you joined," I pleaded, squeezing his hands reassuringly. "I won't judge you, I know it's all messed up. But I need to know."

Malfoy looked down at me, clearly on the brink of giving in. In a desperate bid, I did the only thing I could think of and pressed my lips softly to his neck, right at the pulse point.

" _Please,_ " I begged again.

"Merlin _,_ Zabini," he murmured as a half-smile dawned on his lips. "You are _such_ a bitch."

"How am I a bitch?" I asked with a shocked laugh.

"Don't you think it's a bit brazen to lure me here to talk, and then spend the entire time seducing me instead?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I questioned.

He said nothing, opting instead to press me firmly into the corner of the tower, out of view from anybody who might have been able to see over the exposed railing.

"You know, my mother warned me about girls like you," he whispered in my ear, before nipping it lightly. "Said they'd stick to me even when I tried to get rid of them for their own good."

I wanted desperately to come up with a good retort, but before the Draco Malfoy-induced humming in my brain could clear away long enough to think, he was already kissing me the way he knew I liked — slowly and deliberately, at a pace that allowed me to melt into him in a dreamy haze.

Apparently, though, this wasn't the way _he_ liked.

"Screw this," he whispered against me, as he moved a hand up into my hair, fingers tangling in it. He brought his mouth roughly back to mine. I felt his other hand slide under my jumper, finding my skin.

"Malfoy!" I squeaked against him. "Your hands are freezing!"

"Serves you right," he said with a smirk before bringing the other under.

They stayed in an area I had deemed safe — going no further north than the bottom of my ribcage — but the sensation of his touch on my bare skin had put me in a whole new realm of trouble. He must have been able to sense it, too, because I could feel him smiling against my lips.

His fingers began to roam their way up and down my sides. The touch was feather-light. I could feel the back of his serpent ring grazing me, the metal cold and jarring against the heat of my skin. I shut my eyes tight, willing myself not to make a noise.

If I made a noise, he would know that he was winning.

"What, Zabini? Isn't this the reunion that you had in mind?"

"Something along these—" I gasped as his mouth moved down my neck in a rough, steady line, then tried to clear my throat to hide it. There would be bruising on it tomorrow. "Lines."

"Yeah?" he asked. He gripped my waist harder, fingers digging in roughly. I realized how close together our hips were; practically enmeshed. To my horror, it only brought back the wanting I'd experienced earlier. "And is _this_ all you had in mind for this encounter?"

I nodded my head, the irrational part of my brain hating myself for doing it. Malfoy laughed and released me, fixing the twisted-up hem of my jumper instead.

"Good call, _Heidi_."

"Don't say it like that," I breathed.

"What?"

"Don't say my name so sarcastically, like you hate the sound of it. I know that isn't true."

A look of brief surprise came over him, presumably at the fact that I was still able to call him out despite my breathlessness.

"Sorry," he muttered, after a moment of thought. "I guess I still need to get used to it."

"So then … you don't intend on parting ways anymore?" I said.

"Obviously we're parting ways, Zabini," he drawled sardonically. "Didn't Pansy tell you I break up with people by groping them? You know, since you're such good friends?"

I ignored him, allowing the tiny bubble of triumph inside of me to grow. Merlin knows I needed some triumphs lately.

"Promise me you won't try to run away from this anymore. Promise me that you trust me."

Malfoy sighed defeatedly.

"I really fucking hate promises, Zabini. They're basically contracts, you know. You get in trouble for breaking them."

"It's not like you don't find all the loopholes," I pointed out.

"I suppose that's true," he said with a wry smile. His face turned suddenly serious. "You don't need to corner me into saying that I trust you. I do trust you. I need you to understand that it has nothing to do with that. I know you're on my side, Zabini."

"That's nice to hear," I admitted.

"As for the other thing … the context behind how I joined … I need to think of how to — look, I'll tell you. But not here, and maybe not tonight. If I say the wrong thing and somebody finds out, and the Dark Lord or the other Death Eaters come after _you,_ I'll fucking lose it. I know that for certain." He looked down at me and shook his head in wonder. "The timing of this is such shit, Zabini. I honestly cannot _believe_ how shit the timing is."

"I don't really think the universe cares to schedule these things properly. If anything, this was probably a massive oversight on its behalf." I laughed at his stressed expression. "But a nice one, don't you think?"

"Still! You couldn't have noticed your pent-up urges towards me last year? Everybody else did," Malfoy complained.

I crossed my arms.

"I think I was a little too busy kicking the crap out of you to notice any urges, Malfoy."

He snorted. "That you were."

 


	41. Proud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you’re all doing wonderfully. I’m on the last little bit of my university reading week, so it’s a bit bittersweet (but on the other hand, the end of the term is now in sight). I hope you enjoy reading this chapter. I definitely had fun writing it! 
> 
> Leave your thoughts if you have any (and if not, thanks for reading all the same!)
> 
> ~ Anna =)

For all intents and purposes, the morning had been a good one. I'd eaten in the Great Hall with minimal glaring from even Harry himself, I'd received a letter from my mother confirming that she was doing well on a holiday with Auntie Coraline, and I had been pulled into the same broom cupboard that Malfoy had pushed me into in third year, except now it was for much less nefarious purposes. Or more nefarious purposes, I suppose, depending on how you look at it.

"Zabini, walk with me."

I groaned internally. If there was anything that could reverse my good mood, it would be long and nauseating tales of my brother's 'deliciousness', complete with alarming fruit metaphors to represent various parts of his body. I personally drew the line once peaches came into play.

"As much as I would love to, Parkinson, I've already walked today," I said, trying to free myself from the grip she hooked my elbow into.

"Oh, don't be such a baby. We need to touch base, and we need to do it out of earshot."

"Do we though?" I asked reluctantly.

Pansy was already in the process of dragging me through the doors of the Entrance Hall and outside to the sun-soaked school grounds.

"As you might know — seeing as you ought to have been crying about dying alone — Valentine's Day was exactly two weeks ago."

I knew this due only to the fact that Malfoy and I had spent that entire day tactfully avoiding each other with a mutual understanding that any other course of action would have been strange and disgusting; we had, however, returned to our regularly scheduled programming the very next day.

"I'm aware, yes," I said.

"That's fourteen entire days."

"Correct."

"What exactly is your brother's problem?" snapped Pansy as she forced us to sit underneath a large alder tree.

I exhaled, finding the question quite loaded.

"Where to start? He was almost certainly coddled too much as a child, which is why he cries in his room at the slightest injury. He was _never_ taught to work for _anything_ — our parents sort of just bought him everything he asked for — so he's always giving up on things that are difficult; I'm shocked he's stuck this Healing program thing out for as long as he has, actually. He objectifies women because I don't actually think he knows how to talk to them. He also spends way too much time on his hair, which … you know what? I'm really beginning to understand why he and Malfoy get on so well," I mused, as I scrambled up from the patch of grass she had plopped me down on. "This has been productive, thank you. Well, I'll see you around, Park—"

She yanked me back down.

"What is his problem with _me?_ " she asked, her voice going up an octave. I was alarmed to see tears gather in her eyes, and noticed for the first time that they were more hazel than they were brown. I'd never really been close enough to pay attention.

I sighed, a slave to my conscience as always.

"What makes you think he has a problem with you?"

"I spent the entire week leading up to Valentine's Day hinting that he take me to Madam Puddifoot's, and he told me that he doesn't eat sweets," Pansy said.

" _That_ is actually true; he's extremely obsessed with staying 'sculpted'. It's another one of his flaws," I explained.

"Right, but then he _did_ go to Puddifoot's. With Daphne."

My heart dropped.

"Please god, no," I muttered under my breath, as I contemplated briefly the idea of having to deal with Daphne Greengrass on a regular basis in any capacity.

" _Right?_ " said Pansy. "God, I really despise her. She's just going after anybody with money."

"Yes, I'm sure you must find that tactic absolutely reprehensible," I said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"I'm not as bad as her," she snapped. "Anyway, I don't think she even likes him. I think she's just trying to make Draco jealous."

I rolled my eyes as I peeled back some bark on a tree root.

"Of course she is."

"So I decided the best way to cut her out of the picture is to do it directly."

I frowned. "Pansy, you can't kill her."

Pansy scoffed.

"I haven't been trying to kill her! I've been trying to get her into a relationship."

"With who?"

"Don't you listen, Zabini?" she huffed. "With _Draco_."

"What? Why!"

"Because it'll be mutually beneficially for everyone. The path to Blaise will be cleared, Daphne'll stop whinging about how in love she is with Draco Malfoy, and Draco will finally be able to begin the process of getting over losing me."

I swallowed down the queasiness that had erupted at this plan.

"Yeah, er … I—I actually think he _has_ begun the process. In fact, I think he's finished it, so—"

Pansy shook her head regretfully.

"No, he's definitely still hung up on me, the poor thing. He wouldn't have been single for so long otherwise."

"I don't think he is single, actually. So if you could just call off the whole marrying him off with Daphne thing you've got planned, that would be—"

Pansy raised a well-manicured eyebrow.

"What makes you think he isn't single?"

"He told me," I said.

"He told _you?_ " she said suspiciously.

"Yes."

"Why would he tell _you?_ He doesn't even like you."

I squinted. She had made a very good point.

"I … overheard it. He was talking to himself in Potions. I guess he thought the bubbling of the cauldrons would … mask his voice?"

"Well, what was he saying? Who does he have?"

"I don't think he's actually dating them; I think it's more of a crush," I said.

"A crush on _who,_ Zabini _?_ "

"Well it was sort of hard to hear over the frothing, but erm … they are definitely a … person. Or so I heard."

"Are they Slytherin?" she asked.

"No. No, he's quite tired of those, which is why I think the Daphne thing wouldn't—"

"Well they can't be Gryffindor. And he'd _never_ date a Hufflepuff. It's got to be a Ravenclaw," Pansy deduced.

"It was!" I said quickly. "Now that I think about it, he definitely was saying the word 'claw' a lot."

"I guess I'll have to ask him about it. He'll tell me, we're _very_ close," said Pansy.

"No! Do not ask him. It is a highly personal matter and I really don't think he would want people prying into it."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Zabini, you're being very strange."

"It's personal!" I insisted.

"I think he can decide that for himself, thanks. It wouldn't be the first time he shares something 'personal' with me."

"It's different," I blurted. "It's … sensitive."

"He fancies himself a Ravenclaw girl, Zabini. It's not exactly revolutionary."

"Well we don't know that that's what it is. You know, it might not be either of those things! Or only one of them! It might be a Gryffindor girl, for instance. Or — or a Ravenclaw boy!"

"A Ravenclaw boy?" Pansy guffawed.

"I think losing you was very hard on him," I said, trying my best not to think about Malfoy's reaction when the idea of him fancying a Ravenclaw boy was brought to his attention.

She thought about this for a moment.

"It does make sense…"

"It does! It absolutely does! There we go, mystery solved. No need for Greengrass."

"I still have to try, Zabini. There's no other way to get rid of her. He can reject her himself if he wants, but they need to go on at least one date so that Blaise'll decide it's hands-off for him," she said.

"Why would he decide that?"

"Because he can't date his best mate's love interest! Keep up, Zabini."

"But then that just explains why he won't date you. In fact, that is most definitely it! It only makes sense: he's avoiding dating you because you dated Malfoy. It's like a code of honour thing," I said, all the while doubting very much that Blaise had ever thought about — much less adopted — one.

Pansy sighed and shook her head gravely, looking strangely subdued.

"I don't think it's an honour thing. I think it does have to do with dating Draco but… but…"

"But what?" I asked.

"Well, I think he thinks that I'm…"

"That you're what?"

I was horrified to see tears begin to spill over onto her cheeks.

"Parkinson, what is it? Come on, you can tell me."

She gave a great, shuddering exhale.

"He thinks I'm easy. I think that's why he won't date me."

"Parkinson, you aren't—"

"Don't lie to make me feel better. I know what I am, alright?" she snapped.

"I'm just trying to help!" I said, putting my hands up in surrender.

"There's a better way you can help, you know," Pansy said.

"What is it?"

"Thing is, I can't exactly talk to Blaise about whether he thinks those things about me or not, but I think if you were to—"

"Oh no," I groaned. "No, Pansy. No. I can't get involved in this. My brother and I don't have that kind of relationship."

"But I thought you said you'd help—"

"I can't. I'm sorry. Even the thought of going near that conversation topic with him is mortifying on a level I'm not sure you'll ever understand."

"Because I'm easy?" she snapped.

"No, because he's awful!" I exclaimed.

I cringed and looked away, feeling horrifically awkward. Pansy didn't seem to mind the silence, however, and filled it with tiny little sobs that served to make my stomach squirm. I lasted through five minutes of this before she showed any signs of letting up.

"Great. I've nothing to wipe my face with," she whimpered wetly. "My robes are _way_ too expensive and I forgot my handkerchief in my bag."

I sighed and yanked my scarf off. "Just use this."

Pansy nodded and began dabbing at her eyes. She stiffened suddenly.

"Zabini?"

"Hm?" I asked.

"What are _those?_ " she asked, pointing to my neck.

My hand flew to the side of it.

"What are you—"

"Are those _love bites?_ " she gasped, pushing my hand out of the way. "What are you doing with those? Aren't you like … an extreme virgin?"

"You know, I'm not actually convinced that's a technical term," I said as I shifted away from her. She grabbed my arm.

"Who did that to you?" she demanded, all previous tears seemingly forgotten.

"I actually did it to myself," I fabricated. "At Quidditch practice. I hit myself with my bat and—"

"Like hell you did! You think I can't identify the results of a good snog when I see them?" she exclaimed, diving in to get a better look.

I shrieked and swatted at her, but it was no use.

"Wait, what's that smell?" she asked, gripping me around the shoulders.

I froze in my struggle in order to fix her a severely unimpressed look.

"Seriously, Parkinson? You're doing the 'Zabini smells' routine? You'll be an adult in a matter of weeks, I thought we were past this!"

"Shut up," she commanded as she leaned in to sniff me once more with the voracity of a blood hound. "That smell… I know that smell…"

"I have no idea what you're—"

"Amber and cedar wood; sharp undertones, but also a little bit musky. Salazar, I _know_ that smell…"

"I think you're having a stroke," I said lamely as I watched her face contort through all sorts of attempts to deduce what she thought she remembered. She shut her eyes tightly.

"Seriously, _where_ have I smelled that before? I feel like it's been all over—"

"It's Anthony!" I blurted. "It was Anthony all along. I didn't want to tell you lest I jinx our … good fortune?"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked at me as if she were seeing my capabilities for the first time.

"Goldstein? Goldstein did _that_ to your neck?"

I nodded slowly. "We get heated."

"That's disgusting," Parkinson said.

"What is?"

"The thought of Goldstein sucking on your neck. It's nauseating," she sniffed.

"Excuse me? You have basically written novellas about various parts of my brother's body and forced me to listen to them and yet the thought of _my_ relationship with Anthony is disgusting?" I demanded.

"Yes, because it's Goldstein. And you."

My jaw dropped open. A bolt of annoyance went through me.

"Well, guess what, Parkinson? I absolutely _love it_ when he does that to my neck!" I hissed. "I'd let him do it all day if I could! I'd make a fucking career out of it!"

"Oh yeah?" she asked with an evil grin.

"Yeah!"

"All day, huh?"

"All _year_ ," I said stubbornly as I tried and failed to leave once more.

"Then we'll definitely have to teach you a thing or two about Glamour charms. You can't walk around like that, Zabini, people will start to think you really are a 'Slag of Magic'."

"So what if they do!" I snapped.

Pansy laughed shrilly.

"You couldn't handle that. And I really doubt your lover Anthony Goldstein could. Those rumours, you know … they're a relationship killer."

"So don't start them!" I said in exasperation.

"Sit down and listen, will you? Now, you're going to need to invest in some charmed concealer, Zabini. That, or you're going to have to learn how to charm it yourself."

"Which one's easier?" I asked, contemplating both options.

"Buying it, obviously. Only problem is, it hardly lasts. I prefer using a charm, that way I know it's always available," she said.

I let out a sigh.

"Fine. What's the incantation?"

Pansy snorted.

"I think I've done my good deeds for the day, Zabini. When you reconsider your position on helping me, then I will of course be more than willing to help you."

She shoved my scarf back into my hand.

"Here's your scarf back. Best of luck," she called sweetly as I stomped back towards the castle.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

The best part about having solidified my romantic relationship with Malfoy was that it was no longer frowned upon to kiss him whenever I wanted, provided there was a broom cupboard or empty classroom near enough. The worst part about having solidified my romantic relationship with Malfoy was that now, whenever I was making serious, prolonged eye contact with Snape in the middle of one of his lectures, there was a fifty percent chance I was doing it with Malfoy's hand sliding up my thigh.

"Could you wait like _thirty minutes?"_ I hissed under my breath once Snape finished lecturing and ordered us to begin brewing instead.

"You don't squirm as much outside the classroom," he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Are you trying to get us caught?" I said shrilly.

"Easy, Zabini," he said with a concerned frown as he took his hand off my knee. "Everything alright?"

I adjusted my scarf rather paranoiacally and took another sweeping glance around the classroom.

"Can you see my neck?" I whispered.

"What?"

"Can you see my neck?" I repeated.

"No, it's hidden underneath that ugly woollen scarf. If you're cold, why don't you just cast a—"

"I ran into Pansy yesterday," I said, interrupting him. Malfoy groaned.

"Merlin above, here we go. What did she tell you?"

"It's more like what I might have told her," I said reluctantly.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms slowly. "Being?"

"I need you to remember that you now like me _very much_ while we have this conversation," I said.

"What did you do?"

"Also, I need you to promise that you will never be angry with me, now or ever again," I pleaded.

"You and I both know I would never agree to that, Zabini. I won't ask again: what did you do?" he said menacingly.

"I'll tell you after class," I said. "It's er … delicate."

A half-hour later, he was dragging me through the door to the Room of Requirement whilst I was thinking frantically about how to present my dilemma to him in a way that would result in the least amount of scolding.

"Right. Okay. Here goes. I am not _actually_ dating Anthony Goldstein, nor have I been kissing him," I explained.

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow as he loomed over me, arms crossed.

"Yeah, Zabini, I sort of figured that out when you nearly strangled me for breaking up your extremely boring, flavourless relationship," he said.

"Hey, the only flaw in my relationship with Anthony was that it was short! I would hardly call it boring or flavourless," I huffed.

"I know, that's what I'm calling it. Semantics aside, why exactly are you—"

"I sort of might have told Pansy I … was. Dating him, I mean. And kissing him by extension, I guess."

" _What?"_

"Also, I may or may not have told her you were struggling with a romantic interest in a Ravenclaw male. I think she might conclude it's Terry Boot," I admitted, flinching slightly at the roar that followed.

"WHAT?"

"It was the first thought that came to mind!" I said.

"Zabini, you get at least seven thoughts a second, and out of all of them you chose the one that had us double dating Bootstein?" he demanded.

"I never said it was a good thought, I said it was the first thought!" I snapped. "And anyway, there's nothing wrong with it! You can like who you like these days, Malfoy; no one should judge you for it."

"Zabini, out of all of the things that you have pulled since I have known you—"

" _I had to!_ She saw the marks you left on my neck and began putting two and two together! She started to _sniff_ me! I cracked!" I said, gesticulating wildly to further solidify my point.

"That's it! I forbid you from speaking to Pansy or any of my other friends!" he snarled.

"You 'forbid' me?" I demanded.

"Until you learn to handle yourself in a conversation, yes. I forbid you."

I put my hands furiously on my hips and took an aggressive step towards him.

"You're the one that needs to keep this secret, so don't you go yelling at me when I try to do just that! If it were up to me, I'd have just been honest and told everybody by now!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Malfoy! Because I'm not fucking ashamed of being with you! I am _proud_ of the fact that we're ballsy enough to try to turn something that used to be bad into something good in times like these!"

Malfoy drew his eyebrows together.

"You're proud?"

"It's what I just said, isn't it?" I said.

"Don't you think it's a bit against your ethos to be proud of dating a Death Eater?" he asked.

"That's not who you are to me, Malfoy. It's never been, really. I mean, for a very long time you were the person I most despised, I'll admit. But now you're the person who cares about me enough to try and stop me from ruining my relationship with my father. The person I can trust with just about any problem. The person who's brave enough to even _entertain_ the intention of rejecting his father's views. I'm very proud of that person, and I really like kissing him, and it sucks that Anthony gets to take even the slightest bit of credit for that."

Malfoy exhaled as he watched me.

"It's fine, Zabini. You don't have to get so upset."

I rubbed the tears from my eyes.

"Well I am upset, Malfoy. It's upsetting. And now Pansy's going to try and play matchmaker with you and Greengrass because she thinks you're single — which is _why_ I told her you weren't interested in women, by the way."

I felt a hand wrap around my shoulder and squeeze me tightly.

"Naturally. You couldn't just tell her I wasn't interested in dating Greengrass?"

"I don't have confirmation of that, so no," I said stubbornly.

"And yet you, as a woman I'm currently involved with, have somehow gotten confirmation that I wasn't interested in women?" Malfoy said.

I paused. "You make a good point, I'll admit."

"So what do we do now?" he asked as he led me to the sofa.

I sat down beside him with a troubled sigh as I pondered this question.

"I dunno. Maybe we should stick to it since it's sort of believable. I mean, the Anthony thing is. And maybe you could pretend that you're so sad over Pansy that you've sworn off all women. Especially model-esque Slytherin women. You know, because of the dark memories of your love."

Malfoy sniggered.

"Zabini, I barely _have_ memories of our love. We were friends with benefits at best."

I narrowed my eyes. "What sort of benefits?"

"Consensual ones that have nothing to do with you. Salazar, you're nosy."

My jaw dropped.

"Fine! Then don't ask me about all the cool, weird stuff I did with Anthony!"

Malfoy snorted and pulled me onto his lap.

"I don't need to ask. I think I have a fairly good idea of what constitutes 'cool and weird' when you're involved. Did you chug an entire pitcher of Pumpkin fizz, Zabini? Did you—" he paused to gasp dramatically. "Eat the ice cream directly from the container?"

"Don't think I've forgotten where to punch you just because I've stopped doing it," I threatened. "Hang on, do you hear that?"

"What?"

I slid off of him and began to walk towards the noise.

"It sounds like a bird," I said as I moved further through the maze of items.

"Zabini, I told you not to go back here."

"Why?"

"Because we don't know if it's safe. This school kept a fucking three-headed dog in a corridor, I sincerely doubt anyone would blink twice if there was something murderous back there," Malfoy explained.

"It sounds like it's in distress," I said.

Malfoy sighed and stepped in front of me.

"Wait over there, I'll go look."

I nodded and went back to the sofa. Ten minutes later, he re-emerged, looking pallid.

"Well?" I asked. "Was it alright?"

"Dead."

 


	42. Communication Skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you're all doing super well. Sorry for the slight delay in posting, and in my replies to your (very sweet) comments. Life got a little hectic. I hope you enjoy this one! Thanks for reading as always, and feel free to leave some thoughts, as I do love reading them!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Zabini, what could possibly be so interesting about the back of Mr. Goldstein's head that it prevents you from commencing your assignment as instructed?" came Professor McGonagall's stern voice.

My head shot up from my essay as I looked around wildly. I had been diligently labouring at it for the past thirty-five minutes, and had come up with least three alternatives for an opening paragraph to foster maximal academic punch.

"Wait, is she talking to Blaise?" I whispered to Malfoy out of the corner of my mouth.

Malfoy, having finished his own essay a quarter of an hour ago, nodded with a smirk. He had been using the rest of his time to do various things that I had to actively ignore in order to focus, including looking enticing while reading, looking enticing while yawning, and looking enticing while catching me noticing him looking enticing. Now, however, he was using his time to smugly watch Blaise while the latter was being chewed out by McGonagall.

"I'm beginning to think your family has a sweater vest fetish," murmured Malfoy.

I rolled my eyes. "At least _we've_ never—"

I broke off as I caught my brother's eyes boring into me, looking deeply put off by something.

' _What?'_ I mouthed at him, but he was already turning away. I shook my head and went back to my essay. I was just about to put the finishing touches on it when I caught my brother staring at me yet again. ' _What?!'_ I hissed, more fervently.

Blaise's gaze slid to Malfoy. Then to Anthony. Then to Malfoy again. And finally to me. I was beginning to get an extremely unpleasant knot in my stomach when McGonagall's voice cut through the tension, announcing the end of the lesson.

Things did not improve in Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"Do you think I might be losing it?" I asked Malfoy as we took turns trying to break a series of curses on various bones.

"How so?" Malfoy responded, grunting slightly as a radial bone retaliated and flew into his chest **.** I rolled my eyes and ducked down under the desk to retrieve it.

"I feel like Blaise has been boring into me all day," I said.

"That's because he has been," said Malfoy nonchalantly.

"But why!" I exclaimed, clacking my wand against the wooden workspace and dodging a tibia as it shot at me.

Malfoy shrugged. "How should I know? I'm hardly an expert on the lunacy permeating your family."

"But you're his best friend! You're supposed to know everything about him!" I protested.

He scoffed.

"That's a disgusting thought. And a rich one, coming from his _twin_ sister. Aren't you supposed to be able to close your eyes and peer into his thoughts and feelings or some rubbish?"

"Do I look like Trelawney to you?" I snapped. "And anyway, Blaise doesn't have thoughts or feelings."

"I know I'm not one to talk, since it's taken me nearly seventeen years to finally find somebody I look forward to seeing during daylight hours, and that individual turned out to be _you_ of all people—"

"Alright, that is both offensive and sweet," I interjected, cross-armed.

"—but don't you think that on some level you're stopping yourself from having a fruitful relationship by keeping an old grudge alive?"

I frowned.

"A fruitful relationship with who?"

"With your brother. I might be wrong, but I think I once overheard a Hufflepuff say that it's cruel to deny that a person has thoughts and feelings," Malfoy said.

"You know, you're sounding a lot like my mother, and it's making me not want to meet you after class to do things with our mouths," I whisper-hissed.

"Below the neck?" Malfoy asked.

"Well … no," I admitted, cheeks growing somewhat warm.

Malfoy smirked. "I'll take the hit, then."

My mouth dropped open at the nerve of him.

"I'm joking, Zabini, it's all _very_ exciting."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"You just don't like being spoken to from a place of wisdom," Malfoy drawled as he grabbed hold of my wand arm and adjusted my grip around it. "Hold it looser."

"You're not speaking from a place of wisdom. You're speaking from a place that's going to get seriously injured if you don't stop preaching at me," I said, ignoring the anticipatory chills travelling up my spine at his touch.

"Preaching is for irritating people like Potty and yourself. I'm advising."

"Funny, I don't recall asking for your advice," I snapped. I jumped slightly when he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

"You _do_ recall the thing you told me last night, though?" he said, making my breath catch momentarily.

"You swore you wouldn't bring that up!" I snapped, pushing my chair away from him. "It was a slip of the tongue!"

"The whole unprompted monologue, or just the part about my muscular—"

I caught Blaise's eye for the millionth time that day and, afraid that he'd seen Malfoy whispering tantalizingly into my ear about his muscular anything, punched the latter in the stomach to offset any ideas my brother might have been getting.

"Oof — Zabini, what the fuck?" said Malfoy, rubbing the afflicted spot as heads began to turn. Tonks looked up from her conversation with Hannah Abbott.

"Everything alright over there?" she asked us.

"Er … Malfoy was harassing me, Professor Tonks," I blurted.

Tonks sighed and shook her head at Malfoy, who was looking somewhat taken aback.

"Draco, try to restrain yourself for the rest of the hour, please. I don't want to have to take points off."

I could see a small muscle shift in Malfoy's jaw as he clenched it, and knew immediately that I'd be in trouble with him later.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, putting my hand on his thigh under the desk. "I didn't know what else to—"

"Professor, could you please tell my partner to stop touching me? I don't feel comfortable with the advances she's been making."

" _What?_ " I sputtered, just as Tonks and Blaise whipped around to stare at us. I retracted my hand from him as if I'd made contact with a scalding ember. "I'm not making advances!"

"Your hand was dangerously close to my 'no zone', Zabini," drawled Malfoy. A few people giggled while I sat, feeling mortified.

"Alright, you two — you're both nearly adults. Enough with the 'no zones' and the touching, yeah?" said Tonks.

"I wasn't touching his—"

But Tonks was already waving my protests away, clearly struggling to refrain from laughing in a bid to stay professional. She turned back to Hannah Abbott, resuming their previous conversation, leaving me to sit hot-faced and betrayed.

" _What!_ " I snarled at Blaise. "Turn around and do your bloody work!"

I resumed my work on the bones, tight-lipped.

"Hey, Zabini?" murmured Malfoy.

"I hate you," I snapped, refusing to make eye contact as I swirled my wand in the air in the way Tonks had shown us at the start of class. The tibia stopped vibrating and settled on the desk.

"Zabini, I'd just like to let you know that this in no way precludes you from touching any of my no zones outside of the classroom. After seven on Friday, for instance?" he whispered, harbouring the deepest smirk I'd seen in ages.

I narrowed my eyes.

"I will touch _none_ of your — hang on, we aren't meeting tonight like you said?"

"No," he said, without bothering to apologize or elaborate.

"But we're supposed to be working on that Charms essay together! It's due on Friday morning! If we don't pass we can't go on our next outing."

"Just do your half without me and give it to me on Thursday. I'll synthesize the two parts into something acceptable," he told me.

"But it's only Monday today," I argued.

"Yeah, that's exactly my point. We've got plenty of time, Zabini."

"Well, it's just that… never mind."

But I couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of my voice and Malfoy, having spent years attuning his ears to detect such disappointment from me (usually as confirmation that he'd accomplished whatever he had set out to do), did not let it pass unnoticed.

"What? 'It's just that' what?"

I shook my head. "Never mind."

"Don't be difficult, Zabini. What, you think I'll do a bad job or something? God, you're such a teacher's pet. You don't even need these grades. If you really wanted, your father could just—"

"It's just that it's a long time to go without seeing you in the evenings. I had sort of been looking forward to it this week."

Malfoy looked momentarily surprised at this, but quickly rendered his expression impenetrable once again.

"I read somewhere that absence makes the heart grow fonder," he said casually.

"I don't think that extends to abandonment, Malfoy."

He snorted. "I'm not abandoning you."

I shook my head and began to gather my things as the bells went off to signify the end of the school day.

"When aren't you?"

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

It was the third day of staring. Awful, invasive, nauseating _staring_. It had gotten so bad that I was beginning to see my brother instead of Malfoy when I closed my eyes, and that was where I drew a very thick line.

Winding both arms backwards as far as I could, I clapped my brother roughly on the back on his way through the dungeons.

"What the fuck!" he snarled, steadying himself with great effort.

"What's your problem?" I demanded.

"What?"

" _What is your problem?_ " I repeated more aggressively. "Why the hell do you keep staring at me in class?"

"Oh, piss off! I haven't been—"

"Are you kidding me? I'm seeing more of your face now than I think I did in-utero. It's making me sick."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Have you written to—"

"No I have not 'written to Dad'. And don't change the subject! I know you're not staring at me to analyze my pockets for letters," I snapped.

"Well, you need to write to—"

"The next time you look at me, I'm throwing the nearest textbook squarely at your face," I said, turning to leave. I had made it a few feet, maybe less, before Blaise said something that made my eyes go wide.

"Has — has Malfoy been touching you?"

It was the sort of moment that sent large gulps of drink spraying all over the table. The sort of moment that sent a person's face contorting through multiple versions of disgust and confusion. The sort of moment that had me wheeling around, barely able to enunciate the word ' _what_ '.

Blaise looked around at the empty corridor, and lowered his voice anyway.

"Has he?"

And suddenly, everything I had told Pansy about the horrors of going near this topic of conversation with Blaise Zabini had been confirmed.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you ask me that," I said slowly.

"Just answer the question," snapped Blaise, hands jammed deep into his pockets, a cloud of awkwardness over his usually self-assured posture.

I blinked.

"Is this because of what he said in Defence Agains the Dark Arts on Monday? For Merlin's sake, Blaise, _I was not making advances._ "

"I'm not saying you were. But—"

"Why would you ask something like that? It's absolutely mortifying! Don't you know anything about how Malfoy treated me all these years?"

"Look, I don't care about who you're snogging or shagging or any garbage like that, so don't even tell me," he warned.

"I wouldn't!" I snapped. "And I'm not—"

"But if it's Malfoy, then … then I need to know."

The air between us stilled. We had entered some sort of dimension where questions were too personal and answers stuck in throats before shifting into lies.

"Why the _fuck_ would it be Malfoy?" I demanded, and the outrage I produced sounded so authentic that it almost had me second-guessing my own answers to that question, despite the many hours I had spent formulating them in detail.

_Because he's different now._

_Because he cares._

_Because he kisses you in_ _that_ _way._

Blaise let out a heavy breath and took his hands out of his pockets to rub his forehead in obvious relief. I wondered briefly why it was so important for him that it not be Malfoy. Was it really so terrible? Would it ruin his life so very badly if I spent my evenings tangled between Malfoy's limbs?

"You're right. I dunno why I even said that," muttered Blaise.

"Do try and verbalize it anyway," I said dryly.

"You're together a lot," he pointed out.

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips.

"We're partners."

Blaise sighed. "He's barely in the common room."

"So? How should that have anything to do with me? He's probably selling illegal potions to First Years somewhere."

"He asked Pansy how far you went with Goldstein when you were dating him."

I swallowed.

"He's just trying to mock me for being a prude or whatever it is he thinks I am."

"Yeah, I thought so too. Until she told me he went on a twenty-minute rant about what you could possibly see in Goldstein."

"What? When?" I asked.

"After Christmas."

"He was probably still drunk _from_ Christmas," I suggested pathetically. "And so was she. I believe his intended phrasing was 'what could Goldstein possibly see in her'."

Blaise sighed. "Yeah, probably."

A bolt of hurt flew through me from a complex I'd been carrying since first year: a fear that no one would ever see anything in me, and that everybody knew it. A fear planted by the same person soothing it now.

I tried not to act on the pain, and settled for watching my brother flip through mental puzzle pieces. His attempts to make sense of them ended ultimately in nothing, because the next thing that he did was sigh in aggravation.

"Well it's the last time I listen to that bitch."

"Who?" I asked, frowning.

"Pansy. She was completely obliterated on Firewhiskey when she suggested it. I told her it was a stretch, but she kept going on about smelling him on you."

"She isn't a bitch," I lied, in a cheap effort to sell the concept of her to Blaise. "She's better than Greengrass."

That one was true.

"Whatever. She's full of it. Probably got him confused with all the other blokes she's been smelling all these years."

"Hey, you shouldn't say things like—"

"This isn't an invitation to comment on my friends, yeah? You're not exactly qualified," said Blaise.

"Well if you know your friends so well, then you'd know better than to think that your precious Malfoy would stoop so low as to touch me," I scoffed. "Don't worry, I haven't ruined him for you. 'Oh _Draco_ , come look at my new racing broom, would you? It's _almost_ as expensive as yours, Draco. Draco, watch how well I can hex my sister with her back turned. Aren't I just a _stupendous_ duellist, Draco? Am I worthy of you yet? Will you be my best friend yet?'"

I finished off with a smug smile that wavered quickly when Blaise snorted in response.

"You idiot. I don't give a damn about him. It's you I'm worried about."

"Me?" I asked. This had all the makings of a truly unprecedented moment.

"Well he isn't exactly kind about you, is he? Told everyone you got desperate one night and propositioned him for a shag in London."

My heart missed a beat.

"He … he said what?"

"Don't worry, no one believed it. We all know you're a prude," said Blaise.

"B-but why would he say that?"

"How should I know? Probably for the same reason he tried to convince Nott you showed him your tits. He's depraved; must be all that money he's got."

"When?" I asked. There was a ringing in my ears now.

"What?" said Blaise.

"When did he say those things?"

Blaise shrugged

"I dunno … recently, I guess?"

"Okay," I said, jamming my hands in the pockets of my skirt so that he couldn't see them shaking. "Okay. Thank you for telling me, Blaise."

"Where are you going?" he asked as my legs began moving of their own volition.

"Homework," I said brusquely. "Forgot to finish."

"You're not upset, are you?"

I shook my head.

"Good, he's a git. And hey, don't forget to write to Dad. He's freaking out."

"No," I called over my shoulder before breaking into a run. I knew exactly where he'd be hiding, the traitor.

_Let me in. Let me in. Let me in._

The stones remained in place. Furiously, I kicked at them, but they knew better than to yield to me in this state. I whipped out my wand.

" _Reducto!"_

A tiny crackling echoed through the corridor, prompting me to cast the spell again. Suddenly, the stones were clearing away and the door was coming into view. Before I could touch the handle, it whipped open, and Malfoy stood in the doorway looking supremely annoyed.

"Zabini, are you trying to blow the school up? Get in here!" he ordered as he yanked me through. I had barely made it past the threshold before hitting him across the face with all the might I could muster.

Malfoy reeled backwards, clutching his face and staring at me as if I were possessed.

"How d-dare you! You a-absolute _prick!_ " I choked out, shaking with rage.

"Excuse me? How dare _I?_ " he snarled, clutching at his face with an expression of furious betrayal.

"Are you getting off to this? Is that what this is?"

"Am I _getting off_ to you fracturing the bones in my skull?" He conjured up an ice pack. "Zabini, I am so far from getting off right now that I might as well be Longbottom," he seethed **.**

"It was one time, Malfoy. _One_ misinterpretation of your infinitely indecipherable emotional signals, and you told everyone that I propositioned you for a _shag?_ You are so pathetic! You _knew_ I was mortified when I realized I'd misunderstood! Forgive me for assuming when you took me out for drinks and ended up in _the same bed_ that you wanted a little something more from me! Which, by the way, you clearly do!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but you sound absolutely demented," Malfoy snapped.

"I am talking about the absolutely humiliating garbage that you told Blaise, and Pansy, and Nott — _Nott,_ of all people? I feel completely… _completely_ …" I struggled amidst my hyperventilation to find the word. "Violated."

"Zabini, I'm not going to tell you again: either make sense or get out."

I laughed rather shrilly.

"I just find it absolutely classic of you that you invade _my_ privacy and still find a way to degrade me. This is just … well it's just the crux of the entire relationship, really. I mean, what was I expecting? This is just _it,_ perfectly summed up! It's that Malfoy knack you have for walking into my life, taking what isn't yours, and then having the gall to kick me on the way out. But let me be perfectly clear, Malfoy: It's _my_ body. Mine _._ I'm just granting you the privilege of being able to go near it. So why don't you tell that your Slytherin friends?"

Malfoy drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Why would I tell—"

"For the same reason you told them that I exposed myself to you to get in your pants, and neglected the part where _you_ _burst in on me_ , you complete pervert."

Comprehension dawned on his face, and I could tell immediately that I had gotten it all wrong. A little something twisted in my stomach as I waited for a relieved laugh from him that never came, and a casual mutter about a misunderstanding. Maybe then we could have laughed about it together, and I wouldn't feel the guilt crawling through my stomach as I realized my fist had had no business landing on his face for once.

Instead, he looked down at me like he was looking at something deeply disappointing — like he expected better from me. It was an irony not lost on me.

"That was last year," he said coldly.

"What?"

"That was last year," he repeated. "I started those rumours after you and your friends named my father as a Death Eater in Lovegood's stupid magazine. I know you had everything to do with it, Zabini, don't bother denying it."

I didn't.

"Blaise told me you said those things recently," I said lamely.

"Blaise thinks first year was recent. Ask him, Zabini. Go on. Ask him when I said that."

"Then why would you tell them it happened in London! London was _this_ year," I pressed.

Malfoy crossed his arms and looked down at me. "Where'd we go with our families last year for a week?"

"… London."

"Yeah. London. The timeline fit, and nobody could prove otherwise, so I took advantage of it," he said.

"And the … the other thing? About me showing you…"

"Fabricated," he said.

"But you did see…"

"Happy coincidence."

I brought a hand to my mouth. "I shouldn't have hit you."

Malfoy ignored me and began walking through the stacks of mess. Aghast, I followed him.

"Really, Malfoy … Draco … I don't know what to—"

"So it's still like this, then?" he said emotionlessly.

"Still like what?" I asked.

"This. You constantly thinking the worst of me."

"Come on, I don't think the worst of you. Not all the time. Not as much," I said pathetically.

He gave a small, humourless laugh as he settled onto my sofa to nurse his wound.

"It just sounded very much like something you would do," I admitted **.**

"That's because it was something I would do, Zabini. Last year."

"I'm so, so sorry," I said as I tried to take hold of the ice pack in place on his cheek. He moved my hand away and grabbed hold of the pack himself.

"Was there anything else you wanted from me, or did the hitting do the trick? Because if you're done, I have to get back to—"

"Well I'm not leaving until you forgive me," I insisted.

"There's nothing to forgive; I never held it against you."

Whatever heartstrings he was trying to pull on, if any, were being absolutely torn out of me.

"I really am sorry," I said, turning to leave.

I was convinced I had finally found it; the thing that would end us. The line crossed too far. Stupid, _stupid_ trigger happy habits. Why couldn't I just—

"Wait."

A cold hand clasped around my wrist, grip guiding me backwards.

"C'mon. Come sit."

I tried not to look an offensive level of surprised as Malfoy pulled me down on the sofa beside him. He took a moment to think before speaking.

"Zabini, I of all people hate to spew pathetic self-help drivel like this, but … I think we need to work on our communication skills."

I blinked at him, before a bubble of laughter burst in my throat.

"You think so?"

"I do, actually. The numbness in my face is cluing me in somewhat," he said.

"Alright," I conceded. "I guess I can agree with that."

"Well that's good, seeing as your liberal use of fists is actually the majority of the problem."

"Oh, _I'm_ the problem? Not the fact that you're about as emotionally penetrable as a brick wall?" I exclaimed.

The corners of Malfoy's mouth twitched upwards. "Correct."

"I can see this is going to be a very honest and productive conversation," I told him, voice tightly laced with sarcasm.

"It might be. If you promise to listen quietly, that is," he said.

"I don't know that I'm capable of that," I admitted.

"I don't know that I'm capable of talking to you candidly about what I'm about to, but we have to start somewhere, don't we?"

He stared at the floor grimly as I sucked in a shocked breath. He was going to tell me. He was _finally_ going to tell me. I began to realize how ill-prepared I was for this moment, despite begging for it for months.

"You can ask questions as I talk, but if I don't want to answer something, I'm going to say so. And don't even think about trying to coax it out of me. If I don't want to answer something, then it's for your own good, Zabini. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"And don't stare at me while I talk like you have some sort of license to pity or judge me. I wouldn't go there, if I were you. I've made my own judgements of you over the years and the majority of them haven't been too kind."

"I won't judge you, Malfoy," I promised.

"Yes you will." He licked his bottom lip nervously, and I struggled to keep the pity from my face just to prove to him I could. "But keep it quiet when you do. I'm not sure I can take it otherwise."

 


	43. Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! I’ve got a new chapter for you all today. I hope you enjoy, and thank you as always for your kind comments/kudos, and for reading in general!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

I clasped and unclasped my hands awkwardly as I waited for him to speak, not wanting to say the wrong thing and kill the whole conversation before it had a chance to begin. There was a ticking coming from somewhere in the room, but the beats were too close together to tell time with; if it was a clock, it was certainly broken. My leg bounced to the rhythm as I stared at a spot on the wall.

Malfoy sighed. I froze.

"The ceremony happened August 3rd. It was a small one, held at the Manor. Just me, Mother, Aunt Bellatrix — a couple of others in masks. Don't know who. Couldn't see their faces."

"Did getting it … hurt?" I asked stupidly.

Malfoy drew his eyebrows together **.**

"Obviously it hurt. It's the _Dark Lord_. Burned so badly I wanted to cut my arm off for weeks. I mean it still does sometimes, but I try to deal with it."

My eyes travelled to the black sleeve of his shirt.

"Can I see it again?"

"Why?" he asked, voice full of suspicion.

I shrugged.

"Just want to."

Malfoy sighed and fiddled with the button on his sleeve before rolling it up to the elbow. I tried not to gasp. The Mark looked far more raw than the last time I'd seen it; the edges of it were raised and shiny, and the skin was peeling in some parts.

"What's wrong with it? It didn't look like that before."

Malfoy look unbothered by this.

"It's dark magic. It's not exactly meant to sit on you quietly."

"Well, can I take a look at it? See if I can help?" I asked, already extending my fingers towards the gore on his forearm. He yanked it away.

"No."

"Why!" I sputtered.

"Because it _hurts_ , Zabini."

Dejectedly, I retracted my hand.

"And because I don't know if he can tell who's touching it," he added offhandedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Death Eaters communicate through this. I can use it to call the Dark Lord, and it's the same for him. But I don't know what else it can do, if anything, and I'd rather not risk it."

"But I've touched it before," I argued.

"Yeah, and it pissed me off. Don't do it again," Malfoy snapped.

This wilted me somewhat. I sank backwards into the sofa, cross-armed, as I tried to think of where to take this next.

"What was the ceremony like?"

"Ever been to a wedding?" asked Malfoy.

"None that I enjoyed," I muttered resentfully. Wedding invitations hadn't been particularly hard to come by as a Zabini, but palatable people unfortunately had; I could think of at least two that I'd attended for Parkinson's mother alone, each one ending in a divorce more bitter than the last.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I didn't ask if you enjoyed them, I asked if you've attended them."

I huffed.

"I already said yes, Malfoy."

"Well, you know the part where they exchange vows and they're practically sobbing because they're so pathetically happy?"

"Mm. That part's always nice," I admitted.

"Picture that; except instead of sobbing from the joy of it, they're contemplating suicide in the middle of a badly lit room. Oh, and their father's in prison and their mother very clearly has the shakes."

I blinked, trying not to let the range of emotions that had just coursed through me show on my face.

"I … I couldn't imagine…"

"Good; it's a shit image."

I pulled at a thread in my skirt for want of something to do with my hands, and cursed when the hem began to unravel. Malfoy did not let this discomfort slip past unnoticed.

"Look, Zabini, if it bothers you to talk about—"

"So you asked to join, then?" I asked, dropping the fabric from my hands and straightening my shoulders. "You did this to yourself?"

Malfoy scanned my face before continuing.

"Didn't get the chance to. About a week after I got home for the summer, my mother told me Aunt Bella had come to relay that I was meant to replace my father among the ranks."

It was a kick to the gut. The kind only some otherworldly force can deliver. The sort of cruel irony that mere mortals could never think up themselves. We — _I_ — went to the Ministry and thwarted Malfoy's father, having had no idea that this would be the catalyst for his son being brought in as a replacement. I'd been so happy about it then — so proud that I finally did something worthwhile. And now? Now I was sitting next to said son with a pain in my chest, wanting nothing more than to turn it all back.

When I found my voice, it was quieter than I had intended.

"And … when you were told you were required to join, you felt—"

"Elated. I'd been waiting for the chance to get all of you back for what you did to my father. Meddlesome fucks."

This had not been the reaction I was hoping for. Malfoy kept going, a caustic laugh on his lips.

"You know, my family was supposed to go with yours on a holiday to Spain for my late birthday last summer. And they were supposed to leave _you_ at home — which meant there would be no one to harp on about Saint Potter, no one to get in the way of me finally shagging the Spanish girl, and no one to let slip to my father that we lost to Gryffindor at Quidditch. It was supposed to be a great little time, Zabini. You might even say I was excited for it. But it becomes a bit hard to execute when your father's rotting in a prison cell and your mother's in a pool of vomit."

I swallowed nervously. This was turning out to be a lot more blame to shoulder than I had anticipated.

"We were supposed to go to Spain?" was all I could bring myself to say.

"Like I said, _you_ weren't."

"Why not me?"

"Because I told my parents I'd have rather had my arms cut off than have you there. Mother agreed; she found you beyond irritating. Still does, actually," said Malfoy.

The confirmation that I hadn't been wanted was hardly a surprise, but it stung like a slap nonetheless.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I tried to formulate what my next question should be, or if it was better to stop asking them altogether. No… there was something else, now that he'd alluded to it… something I wanted to know more clearly...

"You must have hated me a lot, then. After everything at the Ministry, I mean."

Malfoy said nothing.

"How much?" I asked, unflinching.

Malfoy shook his head, gaze locked on the flickering candles of a candelabra.

"No," he said with finality. "We're not doing this, Zabini."

"Yes we are."

"What for? I'll only say something that'll hurt your feelings, and then you'll punch me in the face again. We've done this dance more times than I care for," he said.

"Well if you care about me even a little—"

Malfoy scoffed. "That is incredibly cheap—"

"If you care about me even a little, then you'll tell me the worst, most honest truth," I insisted.

He stared at me. Finally, he gave a defeated sigh.

"Fine, then. I wanted you dead. And not in the cute, off-handed way that you claim you want someone dead when something doesn't go your way. I mean dead. At my feet. You, Potty, Weasel, Granger — all of them. Bleeding. It was the first order of business when I got back to school as far as I was concerned."

I struggled not to flinch. I had felt as much from the moment we had first interacted post-Ministry. There had been something about the aggression that had been heavier than usual, and much harder to be on the receiving end of.

"And yet you never did anything about it," I remarked.

Malfoy shrugged.

"Got sidetracked."

"By?" I asked.

"Exhaustion. Depression. You."

"Me?"

Malfoy nodded.

"How?" I said incredulously.

"Well, when you found out I was a Death Eater, I figured it was no longer a good idea to commit capital offences. Bit hard not to end up as the first man on the guillotine when someone that hates you knows you've got a Dark Mark on your forearm."

"Right," I remarked.

"Oh, and then there was the other thing," he continued.

"The other thing?"

"You, again. Barging in. Being around. Comforting me and then… then more. Fucking my life up, for short," he said with a breath of laughter.

I fidgeted, face growing hotter by the second.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm sorry. You know, for barging in. And for fucking your life up."

"S'fine. It's not much of a life either way," he muttered.

"Malfoy, don't talk like that."

"I'll talk how I want, Zabini. You're lucky I'm talking at all. I've never told a soul any of this — not in this many words, at least."

"And… how am I doing at listening?" I asked.

"Better than by your usual standards," he replied dryly.

"Good."

"Anything else, Zabini?"

"Just… let me try to work my way through this," I said, rubbing my temples. "You go into summer eager to serve the Death Eaters. You're excited to avenge your father, and to get back at us for everything we've done. Yet only a mere few months later, you somehow don't want to be a part of them anymore? Despite your family's very long, very vocal allegiance to such causes?"

"Correct."

"And this sudden shift is attributable to what exactly? A change in your political views? A change of heart? A change of temperament?" I asked hopefully.

Malfoy laughed.

"God no. A change in priority; life over death."

"Life over death?" I questioned.

"Last summer, I wanted to die. Now, I prefer the idea of living, thanks very much. Not so hard to wrap your head around, is it?" he asked, voice laced with impatience.

"Why did you want to die last summer?" I asked him.

Malfoy let out a harsh laugh.

"Do you have any idea what I came home to because of you and your friends, Zabini? _Any_ idea?"

"I— well, I imagine—"

"You couldn't imagine, don't waste your breath. The Ministry was tearing the damn house apart floorboard by floorboard. Mother was screaming, hysterical, _drunk._ She thought it was over the minute they took my father… the minute he went, she let it all go. That's how little faith she had in me to hold it all together," he said, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly as he curled his lip in anger.

I attempted to put a reassuring hand on his knee but it only made him stiffen. Awkwardly, I pulled it away, acting like I had a particularly stubborn itch on my shoulder.

"Malfoy, you're only sixteen," I reasoned. "I mean, you're incredibly competent for a sixteen year old, but you're still only sixteen."

"I'm more than competent, Zabini. I did it all. Talking to the sodding Ministry Officials, to the lawyers, to the Healers. Getting them to back off. Dragging her to that ward when I knew we weren't playing anymore, and that she was about to die. I did it _all._ "

"Well, I'm extremely proud of you," I said. "If it matters."

"No prouder than I am of you," he remarked, and for a moment I was stupid enough to think he meant it. "I mean, that interview you did for the _Prophet_ was really something. 'Harry Potter is one of the best people I've ever known. I'm honoured to have fought alongside him'. And what was it you said about my father? Something about him deserving to rot? What do you think they'd say now if they knew that you spent your nights here? With his son?"

"That they recognize that the two are separate, I hope," I said stiffly.

Malfoy smirked.

"I'm sure. Anyway, as I was saying… I thought it would get easier once Mother was away at St. Mungo's, but being alone in that house is a fate I wouldn't wish on anybody. Everything makes noise at night; every little flaw in the structure creaks. I tried to make it all the way to the school year but I couldn't. That's when I broke down and came to yours. And you, of course, tried to drive me out the minute my feet had hit your floor. Always such a hostess, _Heidi_."

I bowed my head slightly. "I didn't know how bad it had gotten."

"You didn't find it worrying that you hadn't caught a glimpse of me virtually all summer?"

"I found it suspicious," I admitted.

"But you weren't worried for me?"

I faltered for a moment, wishing that the truth was less inconvenient — wondering if it was an appropriate time to tell it.

"No. I wasn't worried for you."

"You were enjoying your summer, I'm sure. Better without me, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I confessed.

I waited for the look of hurt to flicker across Malfoy's face, the way I imagine it would have done on Anthony, or even on Harry. But Malfoy broke into a pleased grin.

"You _really_ don't mince words, Zabini. That must be my favourite thing about you. Well … that and the other thing."

I frowned.

"Wait, what's the other thing?"

Malfoy smirked but said nothing, opting instead to lean in towards me, hands clasped together, like he was about to dispense some highly coveted advice.

"Let me tell you something, in case you haven't figured it out yet: seventeen is a _shit_ age to die. No one gives a damn about you when you die at seventeen. Look at what happened to that Diggory kid. No, Zabini, it's nothing but a raw fucking deal: you've barely had enough time to figure out what and who gets your jollies, and suddenly you're six feet below ground. And what exactly is your legacy? An 'O' in some pointless class? That time you finally managed to cop a feel of something worthwhile while fumbling in the dark together?"

"All the people who loved you, Malfoy," I said, somewhat brusquely. " _That_ is your legacy. It was Cedric's, at least."

"Yeah, well I'm not exactly teeming with those, am I?"

"Well perhaps if you'd spent the years being a little more—"

"I see you swearing up and down that you wouldn't judge me was really worth something," interrupted Malfoy pointedly.

I shut my mouth with a clack, feeling suddenly annoyed. A silence crept into the room as we sat, me staring at a crack in the floor and him at me.

"Why are you so sure you're going to die at seventeen, anyway? Your father spent years entangled with these scum and _he_ never died." I refrained myself from adding 'much to my chagrin'.

Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes.

"Am I my father?"

"No," I said, without hesitation.

Malfoy licked his teeth. "They're going to kill me, Zabini, believe me. It's just a matter of time now."

"What makes you so sure you're not exactly what they're looking for?"

"I'm sure you'll find this shocking, but I'm at least marginally self-aware, unlike you Gryffindor freaks with your delusions of grandeur. I know deep down that there are certain things that I can't…"

He scratched his neck, then tried again, flushing a dull pink.

"I believe I lack some… capabilities. It won't be long until they all realize. Rowle already has."

I frowned. There were many unflattering things I could say, having known the worst side of him for years, but only somebody deeply ignorant could deny the fact that Malfoy mastered virtually every piece of magic that came his way.

"Are you trying to say that you have some sort of magical inabilities?" I asked uncertainly.

"Moral."

I blinked. Malfoy and 'moral' seldom went hand-in-hand, unless it was in a sentence asserting a lack thereof.

"What do you mean?"

Malfoy stared ahead of him, refusing to meet my eyes. He exhaled angrily.

"I can't cast the sodding thing. No, that's not entirely — I can cast it; any idiot can cast it. But I can't make it work for me, no matter how hard I try."

"Can't make what work?" I asked.

"The torture curse."

I felt my eyes go wide in horror.

"The _Cruciatus_? B-but when were you — why w-were you — on who…"

Malfoy snorted.

"Yeah, like I'm going to tell you."

" _Draco!_ "

"That's not something you need to know, _Heidi._ "

"But then you're an active member, after all?" I asked, my stomach dropping like a pile of lead. "They've got you actually doing things for them?"

"In a sense."

"In what sense!" I demanded.

"I'm on… probation. It's complicated," he said.

"What have they got you doing?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself over," asserted Malfoy.

"Are they planning something? Are you involved in it?" I asked frantically.

"No," he said, unwavering.

"Look at me when you answer, Malfoy."

His gaze snapped to mine.

"Tell me your role with them," I insisted. "Tell me what they make you do."

"Surface-level tasks, often just formalities. I attend the meetings when asked, but I haven't been asked to one in ages. Aunt Bellatrix teaches me some low-level dark magic on occasion. Nothing more than that."

"Then why ask for you to join? What do you do at the meetings, stand around and serve drinks?" I snarled sarcastically.

"I _told_ you: I was called on to replace my father," he said, sounding annoyed. "Everyone with heirs has got to at least offer them up to serve. Usually it happens later, but my case was obviously different. Now, whether he wants you, or whether you serve well enough to keep serving … well, that's a different question."

"So somebody like Nott…"

Malfoy indulged in a badly-hidden eye roll.

"I don't know, Zabini, I don't have a crystal ball. I'd venture to guess yes, he'll eventually have to join. Same with Crabbe and Goyle."

"What about females?" I asked, the thought suddenly striking me.

"Case by case, I think."

I hesitated, then broke my stare, feeling relieved.

"So what happens when you try to use the Cruciatus?"

"It fizzles and breaks. I can't get it to — it's the sound, Zabini. The way they scream. When you're the one that casts it, you can _feel_ the screaming go through you. It's…"

"Horrifying," I said.

"Disgusting, more like. Nauseating. My mother suggested that they put Rowle in to teach me, but even that's been pointless."

"Why Rowle?"

"He's the best at it. Even better than Aunt Bellatrix. He's really mastered the art of making people aspirate on their own pain-induced vomit," he said with a note of distaste.

"So when you tried to cast it on Harry, you couldn't—"

Malfoy laughed. "No. Not even close. Not that he'd have been worth my time anyway."

Something about this made my eyes tear up, like a heavy boulder was being lifted from me.

"Don't look so damn relieved, Zabini; it's costing me my life," he snapped. The sharpness in his face softened a little. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you … that day Potty left me for dead — how did you end up in there?"

I cringed.

"Do we have to talk about this?"

"I answered all your questions. Your turn."

"I just had a hunch, alright?" I said, figuring that telling Malfoy I had access to a map that shows everybody's whereabouts at all times would have been a touch too far.

"Just a hunch?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes. Just a hunch. I heard someone mention he was thinking of confronting you, so I went to check. I obviously didn't foresee finding you there in _that_ state. But I guess that's what happens when you try to cast an Unforgivable curse on somebody."

"So you think I deserved it," said Malfoy.

"Of course not! No one deserves that."

"But you think I caused it," he stated.

"I don't think you helped!" I snapped.

"So by your standards, Potter can walk in and do whatever he wants, but if I—"

My mind suddenly threw me back to the waterlogged bathroom floor, where I had only very recently watched it turn a deeper red by the second.

"Don't you dare, Malfoy! Don't you dare make it sound like I was alright with it!" I hissed, springing up from the sofa. "Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean it wasn't the most traumatizing thing I've ever experienced, so don't you _dare_ —"

"I'm just stating what I believe to be fact."

"Well the _fact_ , Malfoy, is that I had your blood smeared all over my face that day and if you think I consider it to be anything other than the worst thing I've ever lived through, then I don't know how to convince you otherwise!" I snarled.

I _hated_ that I could still pull the smell of his blood perfectly from my memory — could still feel it crusted on my forehead and my hands. Merlin, how I abhorred that day.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but you're raising your voice," Malfoy said.

"YOU ARE MAKING ME RAISE MY VOICE!" I hollered.

Malfoy gazed up at me with a frown and I felt suddenly exhausted.

"Nothing has changed, has it?" I said weakly as fell back down into my seat, ashamed. "We're still going at each other's throats. Nothing's changed."

I jumped as something touched my back — it was Malfoy's palm, running perfectly pressured circles over it.

"It's all changed," he remarked. "Believe me, Zabini, it's all changed."

"Do you still hate me?" I whispered, easing into his touch. I could never be too certain with him, whether he was sitting floors away in his dormitory or shoulder to shoulder with me in here.

Malfoy quirked a dark blond eyebrow.

"I think that's fairly obvious."

"Tell me anyway," I insisted.

"What for?" he asked.

"Because you said we need to work on our communication skills."

Malfoy looked at me skeptically.

"I think we've done enough of that for today."

"Because I need to hear it," I admitted.

His hand froze on my lower back, then left it altogether.

"No."

"No what?" I asked.

"No, I don't hate you anymore."

I closed my eyes, letting his words wrap around me, letting them take away the metallic memory of bloodshed.

"How much?" I found myself asking as I opened them again.

"What?"

"How much don't you hate me anymore?"

"That's a bizarre way to measure a relationship, Zabini," he said.

"I could show you how much I don't hate you anymore. Maybe that would help."

"What do you—"

He froze as I pulled myself onto his lap in one swift motion, and stiffened even more when I took hold of his left arm. His gaze, which had been locked into mine, flew downwards.

"Zabini, don't touch — Heidi, I'm serious!" he implored as he stared down at my hands, having clearly deemed them too close to the wound for comfort.

"You should ice that later," I murmured as I rolled his sleeve down to hide the mar on his forearm. The stiffness in his shoulders fell as he let himself sink backwards into the sofa. His eyes travelled to me once more, and he watched on curiously for my next move **.**

I don't know where I was getting the courage — probably from the same place I got the courage to kiss him the first time. Or maybe it was desperation. The ache in my chest when he was away from me and the ache somewhere lower when he got too close had been taking turns torturing me for weeks now. And when they combined, like they were now, they had me doing absolutely irrational things, like kissing him on his injured cheek, and his lips, and his neck, and whispering all sorts of phrases that proved I didn't hate him anymore. In fact, with every touch and whisper, I was forgetting why I ever hated him at all.

I couldn't remember how I did it when he nipped hungrily at my bottom lip and amplified the aching, or when he moved in a way that elicited a desperate sound I didn't know I was capable of. Couldn't even remember when he caught on and did it again.

But when my hands flew to the buttons of a shirt that was mine instead of his, and he stopped them one button before it got too dangerous and whispered something about regret that ensured the dull ache would stay with me for the night, I suddenly remembered how to hate him again.

 


	44. An Option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you’ve all had a good week. Not much to report from my end other than a new chapter! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments/kudos on the previous chapters, and thank you for taking the general time to read! It’s much, much appreciated. 
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"Are you kidding me?" I exclaimed at Blaise's retreating back.

I looked down at the stark white envelope that had been forced into my hand by him on our way out of Transfiguration, and promptly tossed it into a bin. Malfoy, however, summoned it out a mere second later and shoved it into my bag with a stern expression.

"Read it."

"You can't just stick your hand down a woman's bag, Malfoy!" I gasped, partially in hopes of changing the subject. "I could have delicates in there."

Malfoy snorted.

"You and I both know the only things you have in there are a bunch of cauldron cakes with the middles scooped out and the five broken quills that I've been telling you to dispose of for weeks now."

I wheeled on him, fingers tight around the leather strap of my schoolbag.

"Well that's just me, isn't it, Malfoy? Just me and my bag full of broken writing instruments and food residue — not a delicate in sight. That must be why you find me so titillating."

Malfoy sighed.

"Is this about yesterday?"

I pursed my lips.

"No."

"Look, it's not that I didn't want to, Zabini—"

"Good, because I wasn't trying to," I said stubbornly.

I had no idea what had gotten into me the night before; what sort of bizarre, desperate creature found its way into my brain and told me that the proper thing to do in order to ease my cravings was to invite even more of him in.

"Listen to me—"

"There's nothing to listen to, Malfoy. I get it. It was stupid and impulsive, and you have made it perfectly clear that it would have been a regrettable choice for the both of us — which I completely agree with, by the way. So are we good?"

"No," he said.

"Why?" I groaned. My failed, spur-of-the-moment attempt at intimacy with Draco Malfoy was the last thing I wanted to address before lunch.

"Because I know you think you did something wrong. You didn't."

I tried to keep the scepticism from my face as I gave him a resigned nod. This apparently wasn't enough for him. He grabbed hold of my wrist just as I turned to leave.

"You didn't," he repeated hotly against my ear, before kissing it.

"Stop, somebody might see," I said, squirming slightly under his grip, a pleased blush creeping up my cheeks.

"Zabini, they wouldn't believe it even if they—"

But the one person in the castle who seemed adamant to do just that had rounded the corner. I scrambled out of Malfoy's grip and took a massive step backwards.

"So all I'm saying, Malfoy, is that you better do a good job on that essay or I'll have to tell everyone you really are as stupid as I think you are!"

"Right," said Malfoy, with all the airs of a casual conversation. "Because that isn't a completely unsubtle and unnecessary threat."

"Well, it's er … it's a threat nonetheless," I said, before putting my hands on my hips for extra effect.

I tried not to look at Pansy, praying that if no eye contact was made, she wouldn't stick around. I was wrong. Her lithe frame stopped at the edge of my peripheral vision.

"Draco," she greeted. Her eyes flicked over to me, more curious than they were malicious. If she had seen anything moments before, she wasn't making it known. "Pointless Zabini."

I struggled not to scowl.

"Always a pleasure, Parkinson. Particularly on an empty stomach."

"Wouldn't hurt," said Pansy, before turning to Malfoy just in time to avoid seeing the rude hand gesture I'd thrown her. "You busy?"

Malfoy gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Daphne wants a word," she said.

"What about?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The dinner you promised her."

I wondered briefly if Pansy, despite keeping her gaze solidly on Malfoy, was watching me for a reaction through her overly-acute peripheral vision. I made sure not to give it to her, just in case.

"Which dinner?" asked Malfoy, sounding legitimately confused.

"Draco, you promised it ages ago! It's a little cruel of you, if you ask me, to let a woman call you 'lover' and yet refuse to take her out for a proper date," said Pansy.

"I'm sorry, what did she call you?" I chortled, unable to help myself.

A pink hue crept its way up Malfoy's neck and face. If any jealousy was sparked in me at the idea of him getting intimate with Greengrass, then it was quickly displaced by an urge to eternally mock him for allowing any soul on this planet to refer to him as 'lover'.

"Zabini, to be frank, I'm not at liberty to repeat even half of what she called him," said Pansy dismissively.

I could feel my grin broaden. Pansy turned to me, arms crossed.

"Trying to amass a list of bedroom words to use with Goldstein, are we?" she sniped **,** causing my smile to fall a little.

I made a point of looking at my wristwatch.

"Oh, look — lunch! Well, I guess I'll see you later, Parkinson." I slid my gaze to Malfoy, and my broad smile couldn't help but reinstate itself. "You too, _lover._ "

The Great Hall was already bustling by the time I made it in. I was surprised to find my usual spot had been reserved for me, albeit by Hermione.

"Hey, guys," I said as I pulled myself down onto the bench.

"Hi, Heidi," said Hermione cheerfully. "We were just talking about—"

"Never mind what we were just talking about," grunted Ron as he took a noisy slurp of his soup and rotated his body to face away from me.

I watched Hermione's smile become strained; watched her open her mouth to say something once, then twice, and ultimately make the decision to avert her eyes from any of us and take a sip of pumpkin juice instead.

I clenched my jaw and pulled my bag onto my lap to rifle through it for my Defence Against the Dark Arts notes, figuring I could at least conserve the illusion of dignity if I made it appear like I had something to do.

"Oh! You dropped something," remarked Hermione, pointing to an envelope under the table.

Before I could even contemplate leaving my father's letter there under the guise of an accident, she had gone under the table to retrieve it.

"Thanks," I said as I shoved it back into my bag, knowing I'd just toss it later.

It had started as a stubborn anger. Rebellion. He'd demanded that I resign myself to my 'slummy friends' and that was exactly what he got.

But the anger wasn't nearly as potent as the fear. Because if I was to be honest, it was fear that was now driving my refusal to read the things he sent; I was terrified to learn something about him that I couldn't stand to know. Another reason to find him loathsome. Another way to extrapolate that to myself.

"I've been doing some more research about the thing we've been looking into," said Hermione quietly over her salad. "I've found a few more cases."

My head snapped up, hope clouding everything.

"And?"

She shook her head, nearly imperceptibly.

"Not a single one managed to…?"

"All dead."

Underneath the table, I dug my nails into my thigh to keep from crying.

"That's good, right?" whispered Hermione with a hopeful smile, oblivious to the implications of what she'd just revealed. "It probably means we can operate on the assumption that your father never… I mean, he's alive, right? And You-Know-Who's back, so if he was ever one of them, he'd be dead for defecting or he'd be serving, right? Since he's neither, I think we can assume he never joined."

"Right," I said numbly, appetite suddenly gone.

Her smile withered slightly; I must have done a bad job reflecting it.

"What's wrong?"

I shook my head to signal I was fine, and allowed myself a subtle glance at the Slytherin table once I determined that she wasn't looking. Malfoy was talking to my brother over a cup of what must have been hot black coffee, if the habits I had learned were still proving to be true.

_All dead._

I swallowed down bile. The summer holidays were in only three months and I hadn't even bothered to reflect on what that meant for me, or for Blaise, or for him.

I knew what they _used_ to mean: two weeks at Malfoy Manor for certain… maybe three if I was particularly unlucky. A family holiday with Blaise, my parents, and the Malfoys, usually somewhere with a beach. Hate-fuelled arguments with their son — sometimes ending in tears, but mostly ending in hexes.

Now there was no Malfoy Manor at all, and if the 'family' in family holiday still existed, then it was fractured for the both of us. We were, of course, also missing the hatred as of late, which severely narrowed the sorts of things Malfoy and I could conceivably do on a beach.

Or maybe it broadened them.

But if the things Malfoy had said were true, then he was running on borrowed time no matter how it went. If he stayed, then with the distaste for violence he'd described, they'd find little use for him soon. If he absconded…

_All dead._

"Heidi, I think there's an owl coming in for you," said Parvati from my right as she pointed to the ceiling, which revealed dark, unyielding clouds outside.

A small number of owls were flying in, as they usually did to deliver things that hadn't been sent on time to make it in for breakfast. Most were going to the Hufflepuff table, and a few to the Ravenclaws. But one in particular — black and arrogantly puffed-up — was flying in towards me. It dropped a letter in my lap, encased in a scarlet envelope.

Parvati looked at the Howler with trepidation.

"What did you do?"

I ignored her. Hands shaking, I ripped through the bright red flap and allowed my father's voice to boom through the Great Hall.

_This marks my twenty-seventh attempt to contact my own daughter. I am sorry to have to use this method of communication, Heidi, but everything else has been fruitless. My explanations to you have perhaps not been of a satisfactory nature, but I will continue to assert my right to make them, and insist that you have a responsibility to listen to them. If you have read my letters — although your brother has suggested you have not — then you seem to have misconstrued my earlier politeness as me giving you options. I am not. You will be staying with me for Easter, and you will be meeting me in the village by your school before the term ends. Your abhorrent behaviour at Christmas has long been forgiven, but your determination to ignore my requests is putting you on thin ice. If I do not receive a response from you by sunrise tomorrow, I will come to collect you from the school myself. Incidentally, I do hope school is going well. Love, Dad._

The Howler disintegrated into confetti, which sprayed all over the food I had set aside for myself. I sat perfectly still, all too aware of the stares I was getting. My eyes slipped first to Hermione, who was looking at me with worry — a worry I was happy to find on Ron and Harry's faces too, although they quickly masked it. I looked next at my brother, who shrugged in an irritating, 'I told you so' way and tapped on a quill that he had taken out of his bag.

'Write back', he mouthed, before returning to his conversation with Malfoy, who must have been the only one in the Great Hall who wasn't looking at me at all.

Feeling mortified, I nodded at Parvati and Hermione, and made my exit from the Great Hall. I rummaged through the contents of my schoolbag and yanked out a blank piece of parchment, settling on a ledge to quickly scrawl out a response.

_Dad,_

_I hope you are doing well. I don't want to meet just to talk about this. We'll only end up fighting. I do have a few questions for you of a separate nature, however, so perhaps if you promise to_ —

I paused, then crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside, pulling out another blank sheet to take its place.

_Dad,_

_I don't want to meet. Staying with Mum for Easter._

_Heidi_

After twenty minutes of careful consideration, I shoved the parchment in my bag and scurried up to the Owlery, having decided that the last thing I needed was the entire school hearing how much of a disappointment I was for a second time.

"Alright, Neptune," I said to Blaise's owl, who was looking at me through narrowed eyes; a tendency she shared with her owner. "I know you don't like me, but you're still supposed to do as I say. I need you to—"

I jumped as I heard footsteps on the flagstone, and turned to see Tonks with an envelope in hand.

"Heidi! How are you?"

"I'm alright," I lied. "Just sending some mail."

"Me too. The _Weird Sisters_ just came out with a new record, but Chicory's not back yet and I'm desperate to order it. Have to use a school owl." She strode over to a small tawny one. "You'll do, won't you, little guy?"

She gave the owl an affectionate scratch on its head and dropped a coin in the purse around its leg. The owl cooed and accepted the envelope into its beak, before taking off.

"Are you writing to your dad?" she asked, turning back to me.

I had yet to give my envelope to Blaise's bird, and she had begun to look at me with an impatient disdain that I'd thought was only possible in humans.

"How did you—"

"I heard the Howler," Tonks explained.

"Right. Er… yeah, I'm writing to him."

"Interesting man, your dad."

"You've met him?" I asked suspiciously **.** No circumstances where members of my family met those of the Auror department could have been good ones.

Tonks nodded. "Spoke to him briefly after the Ministry situation last year; your parents demanded a meeting with all the Aurors that were involved."

"Oh, right."

"He was extremely worried for you. Yelled a lot," she continued.

"Yeah, that's… that's Dad. Big yeller. Italian heritage and whatnot," I said as I gave in and handed Blaise's owl my letter. She ruffled her feathers in annoyance and flew out of one of the Owlery windows.

"My dad's loud, too. It's probably where I learned to scare the life out of all those Death Eaters I interrogate," she said with a wink.

"You mean Death Eaters like my father?" I mumbled darkly, bending over to pick up a pack of owl treats I realized I had dropped.

When I straightened, I saw that Tonks was looking somewhat taken aback.

"Pardon?"

"W-well, he was a Death Eater, wasn't he? During the First War, at least."

Tonks blinked at me, her large brown eyes gleaming with worry and confusion.

"What makes you…?"

"I'm sorry," I said as it all became a touch too awkward. "I don't know why I said that just now. Forget I—"

But Tonks seemed determined not to let this go unaddressed.

"Let's go to my office, shall we? More privacy there," she said decisively, gesturing towards the Owlery exit.

I followed her to her second floor office, feeling like I was somehow in trouble even though I knew there was no basis for it.

"D'you want some chocolate?" she asked, pointing to a bowl of wrapped chocolate truffles on her desk. Her record player was blasting something catchy and guitar-heavy, though I was unfamiliar with the song.

I nodded and grabbed one.

"I hope I didn't look too shocked back there," said Tonks as she helped herself to a handful. She picked out all the ones with peanuts and threw them back into the bowl. "I've never really had a student ask me something like that."

I fiddled with the wrapper of the hazelnut-filled truffle I had taken.

"I'm sorry. I just thought maybe you knew since you're an Auror, and also because… you know, the Order."

"I understand."

I said nothing and took a nervous bite of the sweet.

"It's a bit of a complex question, whether somebody's a Death Eater or not," said Tonks.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Why?" I asked. "I thought it was sort of self-evident. I mean, they have the Mark, right?"

"Well, no. Not everybody in You-Know-Who's circle has the Mark. It used to be that the most important ones were thought to have it, and the ones he valued less didn't. But that's been found not to be entirely true. Sometimes he doesn't mark them for practical reasons — so that they can avoid detection, for instance. But he might still find them very important to him."

"Is that so he can use them as spies or something?" I said.

"Sometimes. Or sometimes he just needs them to stay out of trouble under questioning by us. If they're not marked it becomes nearly impossible to charge them with involvement. But I think it's important for the public to know that, so that they're aware of it. It might sound obvious, but people can become quite blinded by fear and denial, and perhaps end up discounting things they shouldn't simply because they know a person doesn't have the Mark; strange behaviour that ought to otherwise be reported, things like that," she explained.

"As for specific cases like your father… well, a lot of this is before my time with the Order, or the Aurors. I'd have been three years old when the First Wizarding War officially began, so I wasn't really up to snuff with the details at the time," Tonks said with a smile. "And even if I've learned about past arrests since then, I can't really disclose much unless they'd been found guilty at trial. Makes it a bit hard to discuss people like your father."

"So he _was_ arrested?" I exclaimed, likely looking as horrified as I felt. "For what?"

Tonks' face fell.

"Shit. Alright, well, I guess I blew that cover. Yeah, he—"

"Wait. If you can't tell me details… if you're not supposed to… I don't want you to get into trouble with the Auror department or anything. It's just something that's been on my mind a lot, and—"

"Well, have you ever thought to ask him directly?" she suggested.

I laughed at this.

"He'd never tell me. I'm fairly certain he thinks I'm a special kind of useless," I said resentfully.

Tonks looked at me with a touch of sympathy.

"I don't think that's true, Heidi. Or at least, that's certainly not the impression I got from him. I'm fairly sure he once threatened to sue the entire Ministry over your wellbeing. Apparently he gave the security department quite a bit of trouble for 'making the highest bloody government office accessible to children'. You'd think they left it unlocked for you folks or something," she said with a cheeky smile. "Not like you helped yourselves in or anything."

She flicked her wand at her record player, turning the volume down somewhat.

"When I say it's a complicated question, I just mean there's more than one way to be involved. I'm not saying your father necessarily was, but it's like I said before: you can be an accomplice without getting the Mark. It's still involvement in the Ministry's eyes."

"An accomplice?" I asked.

"You know, by doing things like knowingly refraining from reporting a Death Eater, or helping the organization financially. So if you work at a bank, for instance, as the only human…" she paused to give me a lengthy wink that I took to mean she was referring to my father. "And you theoretically help them gain access to certain vaults or privileged information, that might be something that you could get arrested for. But if the Aurors and the Magical Law Department lack evidence that would stand up to a trial before the Wizengamot, you might find that person walking free."

Something very cold had settled in my chest at this. Tonks pushed the overflowing bowl of chocolates towards me. I shook my head.

"But you might also find that person going on to raise two good, resilient children — one of which has her head on straighter than half her classmates, if you ask me," she insisted.

I gave a disbelieving chortle.

"Blaise isn't good. He's an utter prat."

"Fine. One prat and one good one. Better than two prats, wouldn't you say?" she said with a bubbly laugh.

"I suppose."

"Look, I know I'm an Auror, and I'm definitely all for getting the bad guys, but I'm sure you understand it's not as easy as 'Death Eater' and 'Not'."

"Did Moody teach you that?" I asked.

Tonks laughed again.

"No, that distinction's virtually non-existent for him; it definitely keeps our arrest numbers healthy. My mother taught me that, actually. She had a lot of love for her sisters despite everything that happened after."

"Even Bellatrix?" I asked with a touch of doubt.

"Yes. She has a knack for remembering the good in people. Of course, she's still a Slytherin — remembering the good in people isn't the same as discounting the bad, yeah?"

I thought of Malfoy, and wondered briefly if it could be said that I'd allowed myself to go too far with the latter.

"Tonks, what if my father _had_ been Marked? How would that have changed things?" I asked.

"Well, I suppose it would have made it easier to prove that he was a Death Eater, which is illegal in itself so—"

"Azkaban?"

"Well, I'm not a Criminal lawyer, but probably," said Tonks.

"But… but let's say he was forced, or underage when it happened or something. Then—"

"Then I suppose those would be mitigating factors he'd have used in his defence before the Wizengamot. There would likely still be an arrest and trial." She frowned at me. "Heidi, is there something—"

"I'm asking because I'm scared You-Know-Who will start recruiting us," I blurted, fabricating as I went. "Because of our parents and their… you know, their appeal to him. Purebloods with connections. It's sort of a goldmine for helping hands, right?"

To my surprise, Tonks nodded.

"I'd be lying if I said we weren't concerned about that. But that's what we're for, Heidi. You can come to us at any time and we'll do everything we can to keep you safe."

"Who's 'we'?" I asked, frowning. "Aurors?"

She shook her head.

"The Order," she muttered, glancing behind me to where the door was, as if afraid someone else would overhear.

"But the Order's so small. And what about our families? We've got families — they'd need protection too."

Tonks gave a strained smile, no doubt in agreement with the flaws I'd pointed out.

"That's a conversation that has to happen when the situation's more concrete. Unless you know something now?"

I shook my head adamantly.

"No, nothing. I just thought I'd ask."

Tonks nodded.

"That's good. I'm glad you're on your guard. And I hope you know that the good side's working hard, too, even if it gets less attention than the bad. The _Prophet_ prefers a tragedy, see."

"Not exactly hard to come by nowadays," I said.

"No, I suppose not. But like I said — my door will always be open."

"Thanks," I said appreciatively as I got up to leave.

"Heidi, wait. How have you been sleeping?" Tonks called after me.

I hesitated between the truth and a lie.

"Still not great," I admitted.

"Have you found somebody to talk to yet? Told them what's been bothering you?"

"I… if I'm honest, I wouldn't know where to start even if I did. But I'll be okay, I think. It's not me I'm worried about."

I shut the door gently behind me and took a deep breath as I slid onto a stone bench a ways away.

The Order.

Malfoy would hate it. Malfoy would _absolutely_ hate it. But it was an option; probably the best he… the best _we..._ had.

I'd just have to get through the inevitable train crash of an argument first.

 


	45. Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know it’s been a hot minute; my last set of exams took up a huuuge and somewhat unforeseen chunk of time. I’m all done now, thank goodness! I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, thanks so much for your lovely comments, kudos, and all support that you otherwise show! Love ya guys!
> 
> ~ Anna =)

I searched for a distraction from my angst all week long, but nothing quite good enough came. Even Malfoy was becoming an object of dread again — the dread stemming this time from the fact that our relationship was going to grind to a dead halt the moment the words 'Order of the Phoenix' came out of my mouth.

I didn't want to stop what we were doing. Didn't want to have _the_ argument. I was a selfish, selfish being, and my conversation with Tonks had all but confirmed that it ran in the family.

Maybe I'd never bring it up. His fingers, quite frankly, felt too good running absentmindedly through my hair as we leaned over my Potions textbook, studying it in a dark and abandoned corner of the library.

"Page," he muttered lazily.

"Wait, I haven't finished reading it yet," I said, feeling slightly ashamed. This was the fourth page that my thoughts had drifted away from.

"Again? Zabini, it's been ten minutes. You're reading at Goyle's rate."

"I was thinking!" I snapped.

Malfoy laughed.

"Alright, fair distinction; Goyle doesn't do that."

"You know, that's not a very nice way to talk about your friend."

"He's not my friend, he's my lackey," said Malfoy.

I turned to him with my eyebrows raised high, causing him to snigger.

"Relax, Zabini. He knows it and appreciates it."

"Sounds like everyone but me knows what they are to you," I remarked as I turned the page.

In their rush to escape my mouth, the words had slipped entirely past the filter in my brain. They led Malfoy to stiffen, and to drop his hand from the lock of my hair he'd been fiddling with.

I laughed in what I hoped to be an airy and convincing manner.

"I'm kidding! I—I couldn't care less what we are."

Malfoy nodded and said nothing, staring at a diagram that was showing the correct way to melt opal dust into an anti-venom to keep it from burning to the sides of the cauldron.

"Since it's probably something completely fucked up, anyway," I said under my breath as I scanned yet another textbook page for the second time.

Another hour passed in which I put off telling him about the only thing that I was convinced could save his life. It was fine, I thought. After all, if he refused to acknowledge that I had any meaning in his life then why should I fight so hard for it?

Then I felt his hand return to its place in my hair.

And that was enough.

"So I wanted to talk to you about something, actually," I began, breath shaking a little.

"Yeah?" he asked, pushing my hair aside to expose my neck.

"I er… I spoke to Tonks recently."

"Did you?"

I gave a slight hiss of surprise as his lips landed on the crook of my neck.

"We started talking about—"

He began running them softly up and down my skin, and my grip on the library table tightened.

"About—"

Malfoy grazed my neck with his teeth at perfect pressure, making a little whimper escape my mouth. Merlin above, where did he learn to do that?

No. No, I _definitely_ didn't want to know.

"About?" he paused to ask me.

I stared at him. His eyes appeared even more steely under the candlelight, and the way that he was looking at me made me realize that he was very much game to continue this studying session well into the next hour.

Unless I gave him a reason not to, of course.

"About the fact that we're going to a Muggle village for our class trip on Monday."

"Yeah, I know. McGonagall said so in class today. You're scared I'll set it on fire or something?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm certainly worried you'll be rude to them. You're not exactly new to making pointed, hurtful jabs."

"Ah, so you think I'll put the Muggles down by talking about how much better we have it in the Wizarding World?" he questioned.

I nodded stubbornly, earning myself a snort.

"Don't snort at me, Malfoy. It's a completely valid concern."

"It's a stupid concern. Even if I wanted to, I can't so much as say the words 'Wizarding World' without breaking at least five Statute of Secrecy provisions and earning myself an Azkaban sentence. Burning the entire village down would be in better compliance with the damn thing." Malfoy must have noticed my pointed expression, because he quickly added, "which I won't be doing either, Freakface. I have better things to do."

"Oh yeah? Like wha—"

"Like this," he murmured.

The air flew in through my teeth as he resumed his work on my neck. I closed the Potions book and pushed it away, before trapping his mouth with mine, unable to take the torture any longer.

I'd try again some other time.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Before I allow anybody in this class to so much as touch this Floo powder, I want to make _absolutely certain_ that you are all completely and unequivocally clear on the rules."

Professor McGonagall, who was dressed not in her usual tartan robes but in a strict tweed blazer and ankle-length brown skirt, paused to deliver each of us a piercing stare.

"There will be no unnecessary fraternizing with the Muggles if you cannot do so with discretion about who you are. There will be no asking silly questions of the Muggles that give away how little familiarity you have with their world. There will be no _taunting_ of the Muggles." Her eyes halted on Blaise and Malfoy, who looked none to happy to be chastised before having actually committed an offence.

"The man you are about to visit is a very well-respected Healer who is acting to bridge the Muggle and Magical communities in unprecedented ways. The clinic he has undertaken to run is a unique project, and an exceptionally honourable one in my eyes. Any treatment of him that shows anything but the utmost respect will have consequences. Does everybody share this understanding?"

Again, her eyes seemed to rest particularly on Malfoy and my brother, as if predicting trouble already. They gave a curt nod each, however, which prompted her to un-purse her lips and hold out the bowl of Floo powder.

"In alphabetical order, now, so I can keep track of everybody. Miss Abbott, you first," she said.

Hannah grabbed a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Whitman house - Bethania!" Hannah called out, and the flames erupted into a violent green. She stepped into them and disappeared from view.

"Mr. Boot," beckoned Professor McGonagall, and Terry repeated the routine.

Soon, I was the only one left. I stepped forward to take a handful of powder, but was stopped by McGonagall.

"Before you do that, Miss Zabini, I've got something to show you. I just received word this morning." She crossed over to her desk and presented me with a sheet of parchment bearing the wand-over-bone crest that I knew as that of St. Mungo's Hospital. "Congratulations. They'd like to interview you for the summer program."

I blinked at her and pocketed the letter.

"I… my Herbology mark last year…"

"If I had to guess, it may have something to do with a recommendation letter sent by Madam Pomfrey. And by me. They'll be conducting fifteen interviews for two spots, however. I recommend you come see Madam Pomfrey or myself for some pointers," McGonagall advised, before holding out the bowl of Floo powder.

I nodded bemusedly and grabbed a fistful.

I arrived in a small but heavily-windowed room with pastel green panelling and an accent wall bearing a hideous floral pattern. Once the scent of soot wore away, and I was able to properly take in my surroundings, a mixture of mildew and sea air found its way up my nose.

"Just McGonagall left," I announced to my classmates, who were looking on curiously as I stepped forward. Knocking my shoes against each other so as not to track ash onto the already dusty navy carpet, I looked for a spot to stand and eyed one beside Padma.

The more I looked around, the more convinced I became that this was the sort of place people like my parents would frown upon — and indeed, Malfoy was standing with his arms crossed and expression of great scepticism on his face.

"What is this place? Abbott, did you fuck something up trying to Floo?"

"She most certainly did not, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall as she strode out of the stone-built fireplace. "We are precisely where we need to be. Everybody, take a seat and wait."

Malfoy looked down at the worn floral sofa with a slightly curled upper lip. I rolled my eyes and took a seat in a matching armchair.

"Don't be such a baby, Malfoy," I snapped, as even my brother sat down, leaving Draco to be the only one standing. "Bet you've touched worse."

Hannah and Padma giggled, while Anthony unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Malfoy drawled lazily as he sat next to Blaise.

Professor McGonagall shot us a warning glare each, and looked at a cuckoo clock above the mantle. Just then, the front door opened and in stepped a tall, dark-haired man who couldn't have been older than his late twenties. He was dressed in a bizarre looking white overcoat that I later learned was the Muggle-equivalent of hospital wear.

"Class, I'd like you to meet Peter Whitman. He's the director of the village medical clinic, and a proud Hogwarts graduate."

"Yeah? Which house?" drawled Malfoy, McGonagall having barely had a chance to finish her introduction.

"Hufflepuff," said Peter with a pleasant smile.

Malfoy scoffed audibly in response, and I tried very hard not to get up just to kick him.

"Is this the clinic then?" piped in Blaise, looking just as dubious as Malfoy about the entire ordeal.

"No; this would be my home. Can't Floo into the clinic, or we'd have to modify the Muggles' memories even more than we already do. We try to avoid that," Peter explained.

"What d'you mean 'modify the Muggles' memories'?"

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, if you would stop interrupting then you would come to know. Mr. Whitman operates a highly unique, Ministry-approved initiative. He provides magical medical treatments to all who come through his doors, not only the Wizarding community," said McGonagall.

"Isn't that in breach of the Statute of Secrecy?" asked Terry.

"It's certainly regularly scrutinized by the Ministry for its potential to be," replied Whitman. "But we take all manner of special measures to ensure that it is not. We try to use magic only when necessary, and otherwise we stick to the Muggle way of doing things."

"The Muggle way of doing things?" asked Padma uncertainly.

"I thought we were here to learn Healing," said Blaise.

"I think it will become clearer once you all see for yourselves," explained Whitman. "Shall we go, Professor?"

McGonagall nodded and ushered us out the door and through the gate of the small garden outside.

We walked up steep hills and badly carved dirt paths for longer than most of us desired, but I somehow didn't mind. The ocean running parallel to our trek was bringing a cool, salty mist up the cliffs and over us, and it was making me wonder why I spent so much free time cooped up in dark, forgotten rooms of the castle.

A glint of white blond hair out of the corner of my eye reminded me why: we could only be us in dark, forgotten rooms of the castle — at least for now.

"Isn't this beautiful?" I said wistfully to Malfoy.

In my dreamy state, I forgot that I was meant to act like I still wanted him dead. Only when my fingers had laced into his did I jolt out of my daydream and yank my hand away. I looked around quickly, praying that the damage hadn't been done as badly as I thought. Luckily for me, most of the class was busy clutching their sides or looking at their feet, and were paying no attention to the unlikely events unfolding amongst them.

"I've seen better," said Malfoy.

"What?"

"I've seen better landscapes than this rural shit-hole," he muttered, out of earshot of McGonagall.

"Malfoy!" I snapped. I didn't have the chance to scold him further than this, however, for a row of colourfully painted terraced houses came into view. We stopped at one that bore a sign over the door that indicated it was a clinic.

A most bizarre set-up greeted us upon entry. Instead of floating pen pads, and witches and wizards in brightly coloured robes, there was just one very plain looking woman behind a large, white desk. Some sort of black apparatus atop of it was emitting a shrill sound, and only stopped when she picked it up and told it 'hello'. She set it down and beckoned us forward, but as we did so, it began to scream again. I saw Malfoy jump beside me. An elderly man in one of the chairs cast him a strange look.

Peter Whitman exchanged a few phrases with the woman at the desk, before leading us down a bright corridor and into a small room.

I thoroughly enjoyed the hour that followed. We were shown how to sew people's skin up to keep wounds from festering, how to listen to heartbeats with a bizarre tube attached to what looked to be ear plugs, and were taught that Muggles had their own versions of potions that occasionally came in dry little capsules to be taken with water.

Although I was quite captivated by the gory idea that you could simply sew chunks of flesh back together, not an ounce of this information seemed to be impressing Malfoy. He watched Whitman run through the steps of a maneuver meant to hold broken bones in place, without even batting an eye at the gruesome photographs the latter produced to assist with his explanation.

"Why don't you just magic them into place? It takes all of three seconds," Malfoy drawled.

"If it's life threatening, certainly. Otherwise, there's no need. The Muggle way works — it's just a touch more painful and takes a little longer."

"That's cruel to them, don't you think?"

"Cruel to whom, Mr…?"

"Malfoy. To the Muggles. You're just playing god, aren't you? Picking and choosing who to treat with magic and when?" he said.

"That is our job," Mr. Whitman replied.

"No, our job's to heal witches and wizards who fully understand how far magic can go in healing them; and it obviously goes farther than sewing people's arms up with string."

"It's professional discretion," said Whitman.

Malfoy scoffed insolently, and I was relieved for his sake that McGonagall was in another room.

"And the community's applauding you for this? For knowing how to heal a bone in seconds but only doing it when you want to? Looks like nothing but an ego thing, if you ask me."

"No one did," snapped Anthony. I was surprised to hear the venom in his usually polite tone. "Don't think we much care what medical help a blood purist thinks Muggles should be given."

Malfoy shot Anthony the darkest glare I'd seen in ages, then crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"May I continue?" Whitman asked politely.

Malfoy shrugged.

"Makes no difference to me. I'm not really taking any of this barbaric garbage in, if I'm honest."

An hour later, we were released for a brief lunch. I grabbed Malfoy's arm and turned him around to face me.

"What's gotten into you?" I demanded.

"What?" he asked, unaffected.

"You're being a complete nightmare in there! You're just arguing with everything anybody says!"

"I'm voicing my opinion. Or do I not get to do that unless I was a member of your failed duelling club?"

"Dumbledore's Army wasn't a duelling club, Malfoy. And you can absolutely have an opinion, but you shouldn't be such a prat about voicing it," I snapped.

"Yeah, and Goldstein was so pleasant in there. Not a low blow at all."

"I personally think it's nice that Whitman's using his abilities to do some good in the Muggle world," I said, choosing not to address Anthony's somewhat valid — and completely out of line — point about Malfoy's political views.

"Do some good? He's sewing them up like torn blankets when all he's got to do is say a simple spell," snapped Malfoy.

"Look, go get some lunch. Maybe it'll put you in a better mood."

"Yeah, like I'm eating in this Muggle hole. How do I even know if they cook their food properly here?"

I could feel my jaw clamp up.

"Then _starve_ , Malfoy."

"Even if I wanted to eat, I don't have any money," he said casually, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"What?"

"What, like I'm going to trade in my galleons for their worthless currency?"

"Malfoy, McGonagall told us to get Muggle money like two weeks ago! And you come from the richest Wizarding family in the country! You couldn't spare a few galleons?" I exclaimed.

"We didn't stay the richest by investing in Muggle banknotes, I'll tell you that much," he said, casting a dirty look at a child who rode past on some sort of three-wheeled contraption.

I groaned. "I can't believe this. You're here for three days. How are you going to eat?"

He answered this with a shrug.

I tried not to curse loudly as I reached into my bag and passed him a twenty pound note.

"I was going to spend this on something interesting," I informed him resentfully. "You now owe me something interesting."

It was apparently too much for Malfoy not to grin deviously at this and lean into my ear to try and inform me precisely what that 'something interesting' was going to be. Unfortunately for him, Blaise chose this moment to step out of the clinic.

Malfoy straightened himself immediately.

"Oi, there you are! Everyone's going to that sandwich shop for lunch. You coming?"

I sighed and nodded.

"Not _you_ ," said Blaise.

"You just said everyone's going," I snapped.

"Yeah, I never said you couldn't. I just don't want you to think I'm _inviting_ you. There's a difference."

"I don't know how our mother ever found it in her heart to love you," I informed him, before breaking away from the Slytherin pair and going to join Padma and Terry.

Later that night, once we were long settled at the Inn we'd all be occupying for the subsequent two nights, I found myself leaving my room to tap a meek and nervous rhythm on Malfoy's door. A significant part of me hoped that he wouldn't hear it, and that I could walk away and still tell myself I tried. Maybe he really did sleep now. In fact, maybe the tides had turned in an ironic way and he slept even better without me.

No luck.

The door swung open, and Malfoy stood on the other side of it wearing the same clothes he'd had on earlier. He looked me up and down and quirked an eyebrow.

"You haven't thrown those pyjamas in a fire yet?"

"Can I come in?" I asked, ignoring the jab at my favourite bedtime outfit. I hadn't exactly selected it by accident, figuring that he couldn't get too angry at me if he had the face of a giant rabbit staring up at him while he tried to shout.

"Zabini, it's after midnight."

I felt an expression of annoyance flit over my face. "So what? Is there some sort of bedtime cut-off for this relationship that I'm unaware of? Do we cease all association once the clock strikes twelve?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and said, "No, but we do try to sleep then."

"News to my ears," I said as I pushed my way through. To his credit, the resistance that he'd given was minimal.

"What do you need?" he asked, shutting the door behind me.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you here?"

I shrugged. "I was just plagued by some erm… bedtime thoughts."

"Bedtime thoughts?" Malfoy repeated.

"Yes."

"What sort of bedtime thoughts?" he asked.

"Troubling and invasive ones," I admitted as I pictured yet another creative way that this would all end horrifically.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"Zabini, are you…how do I say this…"

He leaned down until our noses were touching. There it was again — the unmistakeable scent of peppermint. I fought the urge to taste it.

"Are you trying to become intimate with me?" he asked in the gravest of tones.

I blinked, then shoved him hard in the chest.

"I'm clearly here to talk about something serious, you prat!"

He straightened up and gestured to my outfit. "Clearly."

"I am! God, you're so full of yourself. You really think a desperate need to have sex with you is the thing that keeps me up at night?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" he said with an infuriating smirk.

"Forget it, I'm going back to my—"

"Oh, _relax_. C'mon. Come sit down," he said, leading me to the bed.

I snatched my hand out of his grip but sat down anyway. The mattress shifted beside me. He was clearly intrigued by whatever brought me to his room this late at night.

"So I've been looking for a while now," I began, after a heavy pause. "Researching. Trying to find some sort of case where somebody like you went on the run and lived. But…I don't think it's possible."

"I could have told you that, Zabini. Why, were you planning on running away into the sunset together?"

"Please just listen, Draco," I pleaded. The smirk left his face. "And promise you won't get angry."

"I—"

"Promise me you won't get angry, and that you'll think about what I'm about to suggest."

He swallowed anxiously, then gave one brief nod.

I pecked him quickly on the cheek. "Thank you."

I took a deep breath before continuing.

"You need to turn yourself in," I said.

"Beg pardon?"

"It hasn't gone too far yet. You said it yourself: they've only had you doing basic, low-level things. They haven't made you commit any real crimes," I continued.

"You realize that being a Death Eater is in itself illegal, right?" he asked.

I had indeed already realized this, and recognized it as the weakest part in the plan; the possibility of Azkaban was hardly a selling point. Having grasped this, I had thought of a litany of counter-arguments, and might have succeeded in sounding convincing had the words not come jumbling out of my mouth.

"Right, b-but you're underage, right? And you were concerned — I mean coerced — and you _clearly_ don't want to serve him, a-and—"

"The Aurors aren't going to show mercy to _Lucius Malfoy's_ son," said Malfoy coldly.

I shook my head quickly as I realized he'd misunderstood.

"Oh, I'm not talking about the Aurors. No, no. I'm talking about the Order. Tonks said—"

"You went to my cousin about this?" he asked, and I was almost certain I heard a note of alarm in his voice.

"No. Not like that. I was asking about myself."

"What?" he demanded.

"Well, I made up a story about how I was afraid they'd force me to join — you know, after you told me that it's customary with him to go after his followers' children sometimes. And she told me they've already put some thought to it; they know he does this, and they know it isn't always voluntary. They'll help to hide you, Malfoy."

Watching him take this information in and process it was a slow agony. I knew he was coming up with counterarguments. Holes in the plan. Reasons to say no.

And if he said no, I had nothing better to offer him.

"My mother—"

"I know! I know, I asked about that too. About families. They'll protect your mother as well," I assured him.

"And what about my father?" Malfoy said.

I hesitated. I doubted very much that they'd care to put resources into Lucius Malfoy when so many others were in need of protection.

"I'm sure we can … deal with him. If he emerges."

Malfoy gave a small, unconvinced snort and I knew then that I was desperately losing.

"Please," I urged him.

I grabbed his hand and found it freezing to the touch.

"Draco, _please_. There's just no other way; if there was, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I…I'd do anything."

I had never heard myself say it out loud before, and when I did, I realized with a bolt of dread that it was absolutely true. I _would_ do anything. A fleeting thought reminded me how utterly perverse that was, but it was overtaken by a louder one that told me to keep trying to convince him. So I took his other hand and squeezed them both hard.

It seemed to take him out of his thoughts, because he look at me with the sort of clarity that pushed me to continue.

"I promise you, I will be right there with you when you go to them, and I'll vouch for you completely. I'll tell them all about how you got in over your head, but that you're not like that, and that you're actually— that I … that you've changed, and that I—"

I shut my eyes tight. I didn't want to say it.

_One truth at a time, Zabini._

"I'd really hate to have to get on my knees to beg you for something, Malfoy. I know my younger self would be absolutely furious with me if I did. But I don't think my younger self quite realized how much my older self would grow to… look, if it takes me getting on my knees to get you to—"

"No," he said, withdrawing his hands from mine. He stood up from the bed and strode over to the window. I wondered if he only did it so he'd have an excuse not to look at me.

"No?"

"No," he repeated, offering me nothing more.

My heart dropped. I swallowed my disappointment and rose off the bed.

"No what?" I asked, deciding to make absolutely certain that I hadn't misunderstood.

"You don't have to get on your knees, Zabini," he said.

"I… don't?"

I didn't dare to think… to hope…

He scratched the back of his neck the way he always did when I put him somewhere uncomfortable, or had him doing the opposite of what he had set out to do.

"I'll do it, Zabini. Just don't beg."

 


	46. Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Keeping it brief today since I’m literally in the middle of an extremely packed family vacation right now. Thanks as always for the love and the comments, they’re wonderful to read! I’ll try to update before May 8th, but it’s really tricky to find time to write here, and every time my family finds me trying to do any form of work they intercept me (apparently the point of this vacation is for me to recover from my workaholic ways hahaha).
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"You'll … you'll do it?" I repeated. "Just like that?"

Malfoy nodded, still glued to the view of the greenery outside; anything to avoid looking at me, I supposed.

"And I don't have to hex you to get you to cooperate?" I asked slowly. The whole thing felt unsound — like a vital part of our routine had been cut out entirely.

Malfoy scoffed at this and finally turned to look at me properly.

"Think you can hex me to bend to your will, do you?"

"I can hex you to do loads of stuff," I said with a dismissive wave. "But seriously, you— just like that, you…?"

He crossed his arms and looked down at me with a steely-eyed gaze that radiated annoyance.

"Is there something about this that displeases you, Zabini? Were you looking forward to a fight or something?"

"No, I—"

"No, really, if you want to fight, we can fight," he said. "But if it doesn't end in an equally engaging form of making up then I'm quite honestly not interested."

"Malfoy, it is _never_ this easy with you," I said, ignoring his suggestion. "And you know it," I added as he snorted.

"Have you ever thought that I'm being agreeable because I might like you at least as much as you claim to like me?" Malfoy asked. "Has that peculiar idea ever crossed your brain?"

"No," I said firmly.

"No?"

"Draco, I could barely get you to proofread our Transfiguration essay a week ago, and I'm pretty sure you liked me just the same then. But this? This is your _life._ Your freedom. You aren't even going to try and argue about it?"

"Zabini, I already raised my arguments, and you answered them in a way that I found to be satisfactory. Now, if you're done—"

"Fine," I said defeatedly. "I'll go."

"I never said anything about you leaving," Malfoy remarked.

He strode to the bed and took a leisurely seat with his back against the headboard, a flimsy floral pillow adjusted under his neck.

I frowned.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as he watched me stand by the foot of his bed.

"You're just going to linger there, then?"

"Well where else would you have me linger?" I asked.

"Beside me would be better."

I couldn't help but smile as he nodded to the empty space on the bed, and it didn't take me long at all to find myself nestled up in it, head resting comfortably on his chest. But even after an hour of this, it still didn't feel like long enough. I needed an eternity of this - of his heartbeat underneath my ear, of his fingers tracing lazy circles on my back. Hell, even a full night of it would be better than the pitiful scraps I'd been getting lately.

I wanted to wake up with him again; to feel the sun rays on my face as he dozed peacefully beside me — and not as a chore that he'd guilted me into, but as a choice. Because I could make that choice now. And I wanted to.

"Is it very terrible if I say that I miss sleeping in your bed?" I asked as I ran my fingers over the buttons of his shirt.

"I don't know. Is it very terrible if I admit that I miss having you in there, even as the massive face on your pyjamas is making deeply unnerving eye contact with me?"

I looked down at Babbitty Rabbitty and tried to cross my arms over my chest to block the poor creature's eyes.

"It's your own fault for staring where you shouldn't be," I pointed out.

Malfoy laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

"Did we really stop spending nights together because Pomfrey gave you a sleeping potion?"

Malfoy's eyebrows drew together slightly as a discernible shift in tone overtook the room.

"What do you—"

"It just seems abrupt. First you stop sleeping with— beside— me, and then you lock me out of the room altogether. It doesn't make sense."

He sighed.

"I just don't want to…"

"You don't want to what?" I asked softly.

"I don't want to ruin this. I don't want regret to be a part of—"

I blinked.

"Why do you keep bringing up regret? I don't understand. Every time I try to get closer to you, you start talking about regret."

"Heidi, I—"

"Are you talking about yourself? Are _you_ the one that regrets it? Because I know I don't regret a moment of it, so it's got to be you," I insisted.

A pained expression crossed his face. I must have gotten something wrong. I waited for him to explain himself further, and gave a gasp of surprise when his mouth collided with mine instead. I thought for a second that he was trying to distract me from asking too many inconvenient questions. But as he kissed me over and over again, each time more hungry than the last, I realized he wasn't trying to tell me anything. He was trying to show me.

"I don't— I wouldn't regret—" he panted between kisses that I eagerly reciprocated. His hands were roaming freely now, entirely unchecked by me. "But you— it's more complicated than—"

I inhaled sharply as his fingers grazed the inadvertently exposed skin on my stomach, and was surprised at myself when I didn't rush to yank the fabric back down. He wavered slightly, palm still on my stomach, fingers partly under the hem of my top. I answered his silent question with a nod.

His hand wandered further north than I'd ever let it before, disappearing under the fabric fully.

How on earth could I ever regret this? It was absolutely wonderful. Divine, even. And with him… maybe it wouldn't be so divine if it were with somebody else, but with _him…_

Malfoy's mouth froze on my neck as an unmistakeable rapping sounded on the door.

"Oi, Draco! You in there?" came a distinctly annoyed male voice.

For all our talk of regrets, and my assertions that could I never have any, I thought of one with a shocking level of ease: I, Heidi Zabini, had a deep regret that I hadn't absorbed Blaise in-utero.

"He can't find me in here," I whispered helplessly as Malfoy slid his hand out from under my pyjama top. "He'll never believe that I'm only in your room to borrow toothpaste."

"No one would believe that, Zabini; it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life," said Malfoy, looking at the door as Blaise pounded on it once again.

"Help me come up with something believable then!" I said as I frantically adjusted my top.

"Mate, I know you're in there; I can see the light on. Open up! It's an emergency."

Malfoy bit his lip in contemplation, then grabbed me by the arm.

"What're you—?"

"Stay in there until I get rid of him," he said, pushing me in the direction of the ensuite.

"What?"

"Just sit on the toilet or something," he said.

" _Are you bloody serious?_ " I hissed.

"Look, it'll be quick. Oh, and hide behind the shower curtain if you hear me say 'do you think the Cannons stand a chance this season', alright?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Alright, can I just say that that is an oddly specific instruction, and I can't help but feel like you've done this with other girls in the—"

"No time, Zabini," he said as he pushed me through the bathroom doorway. "Lock yourself in."

"Know where my sister is?" I heard Blaise ask Malfoy moments later as I assumed my spot on the pale blue tile.

"What?"

I flinched nervously as I sat propped against the cold porcelain of the toilet. I hoped Malfoy was still the stone-faced liar that I knew him to be.

"Heidi— have you seen her?" Blaise repeated.

"I saw her when you did," said Malfoy dismissively.

"Well I knocked on her door three separate times and she refused to answer it. I figured maybe she's not in her room."

"Blaise, it's nearly two in the goddamn morning. She's probably asleep."

I nodded encouragingly at the bathroom door, hoping that Draco would somehow telepathically take the cue to continue on with this excuse.

"No bloody way she didn't hear me pounding on that thing. She's the lightest sleeper I know."

"Yeah, I know she's a light sleeper, but why the fuck would she come to my—"

_No, no, no._

I shook my head voraciously at the door, but the damage was apparently done.

"What do you mean you 'know' she's a light sleeper?" asked my brother slowly.

I shut my eyes and tried not to groan.

_It's not Malfoy's fault… he's tired… he's just tired…_

"That's not what I meant," said Malfoy.

" _I_ said she's a light sleeper, and _you_ said 'yeah, I know she is'," stated Blaise.

Somebody sighed sharply.

"Alright, before you continue on with this bollocks, listen to me _very_ carefully: your sister's sleeping habits are about as known and interesting to me as my house-elf's. Actually, I might care more about the elf since my linens don't get pressed unless he's awake."

I narrowed my eyes and aimed a rude hand gesture at the door, sincerely doubting he'd prioritize his linens over what we'd been doing earlier if push came to shove.

"What do you need her for so badly, anyway?" Malfoy continued, before I had a chance to burst out of the bathroom to prove this.

"She has my Muggle money."

I cursed under my breath; I'd snatched it away earlier in the day to punish him for complaining about having to use it, and had completely forgotten to give it back.

"… and you couldn't wait until breakfast?"

"What if I need it before breakfast?" asked Blaise.

"Find some girls you don't have to pay for, Blaise," said Malfoy impatiently.

"Oh, aren't you witty tonight."

I heard the creak of the door and thought naively that it signified my brother's departure.

"What're you coming in for!" I heard Malfoy snap as someone audibly collapsed on the bed.

"Can't sleep."

"Yeah, and what am I supposed to do about it? Sing you a lullaby?" drawled Malfoy.

"I think I'd rather die, quite frankly," Blaise said.

"Hurry up and get to it then — preferably in your own room."

I strained my ears, searching for the sound of a door opening and closing. None came.

"Hey, you have one of these box things in your room too?"

Somebody sighed impatiently — I presumed it was Draco.

"I guess? Never really looked, to be honest," he said.

"Have you turned any of the knobs on it?" my brother asked.

"No."

"Think it'd explode if I did?"

"How the hell should I know, Blaise? It's Muggle shit."

"I'm gonna do it," said my brother determinedly.

I heard Malfoy scoff. "Go back to your room and do whatever you want to the knobs on the Muggle contraption in there."

I jumped as the harsh sound of static filled the air, grimacing when my spine smashed into the porcelain toilet behind me. Suddenly, the sound of static was replaced by voices and laughter that didn't belong to anybody I could recognize. Blaise must have found the television.

"Jesus, there's little people in there!" said Blaise. "Think they see us?"

I rolled my eyes at my brother's idiocy.

"Why the fuck won't you leave? You clearly know I don't want you in here right now."

A rather pregnant pause followed, making me nervous that Blaise was gearing up to fight him again.

"Don't wanna be alone with my thoughts, if I'm honest," he said.

I frowned, wondering what could possibly be troubling my perpetually untroubled brother.

"Are you kidding me?" said Malfoy.

"What?" Blaise snapped.

"Nothing. Just … sit down. _Twenty_ minutes. Stick around for any longer and I'm throwing you out the window myself."

"Like you could. Need I remind you of the last time you tried to rough me up? **"**

"Need _I_ remind _you_ that the last time you tried to throw a punch my way, your aim was so bad that you punched your own sister in the face?" drawled Malfoy.

My brother said nothing.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

I had erroneously decided, based on their previous exchanges, that the subsequent conversation was bound to be a little interesting — or at least bearable. What followed, however, only led me to question what in Merlin's name was the glue that was binding this friendship together. Between the discussion about broomstick servicing kits going down in quality, a brief argument over which brand of Butterbeer tasted best over ice **,** and Blaise's disappointed realization that Muggle women could be just as attractive as witches, I had come to realize that time was better used reading the backs of a tiny pair of bottles bearing shampoo and conditioner.

It was only when I found Malfoy's shaving lotion and began mixing a glob of it on the rim of the tub with a squirt of shampoo that the conversation took an even remotely interesting turn.

"Nott's getting nervous."

"Yeah?" said Malfoy.

"He's not sure if he's coming back to school next year," Blaise explained. Somebody turned the television volume down.

"Why in the hell not?" demanded Draco.

"Thinks it's gonna be a war after all, and that he'll be a target for both sides. He's not opposed to joining if push comes to shove, but I think he's trying to stay out of it for as long as possible."

There was a pause.

"Makes sense, I guess. Could just be talk, though. You know how Nott is."

"He's taken up with a Hufflepuff. No way he'd do that if he thought he had a future at this school," replied Blaise.

"Depends on the Hufflepuff, I suppose," said Malfoy nonchalantly.

"Not for him, believe me." Blaise paused, then said, "I do like the idea of a last hurrah, though — maybe that's what I'll do, too."

"What do you mean? _You're_ coming back, aren't you?"

"Nah, I think Dad's already talked to the Headmaster over at that American school. It's pretty much a done deal now. Just have to break it to Heidi. Can't picture that going well; it took him about a lifetime just to get her to write him one sentence."

I froze, a half-pumped glob of shaving foam falling past the rim of the tub and onto my leg.

"I thought you told me he was only thinking about it; not that he was actually going to go through with it."

"Come on, look around. The Auror Department's out for blood. They'll be tailing us just for being Purebloods soon. I want to graduate in peace, thanks."

"Yeah, but your sister's not going to be under scrutiny. I mean she's practically attached to Potter's group," argued Malfoy.

"I don't think Dad's worried about that. It's … other things," explained Blaise.

"What other things?"

"Forget about it," he said. "What about yourself? You coming back?"

"Why wouldn't I?" drawled Malfoy.

"Come on, Draco, don't be dense. You've got stronger ties to You-Know-Who than any of us. Well, besides Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, I guess. But none of their fathers were second in command, were they?"

"So? What are they going to do, throw me in prison because of my father?"

"No, but they'll be looking for reasons to do it. And they'll find them, knowing you," said Blaise.

I heard Malfoy scoff derisively. "That's if the school's still being run by Dumbledore."

"Why wouldn't it be?" asked Blaise.

"He's decrepit; it's only a matter of time before someone gets to him. And when they do, I don't think it'll be McGonagall running the school, if you know what I mean."

"He looks fine to me," Blaise said.

"Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. We'll have to wait and see, I guess," said Draco.

A heavy pause followed this statement; I was certain my brother was just as perplexed as I was.

"God, I've only depressed myself more talking to you," he announced after an awkward and extended silence. "You're a nightmare this year, you know."

"Go to your room, then."

"Yeah, yeah. Have to take a piss first," he said.

My eyes widened. I scrambled backwards until I hit the pedestal of the sink.

"Do it in your own bathroom!" boomed Malfoy.

"What? You have a girl in there or something?" asked Blaise, before giving a hearty chuckle. "That's the spirit!"

He knocked on the bathroom door. I held out the aerosol bottle as if it were a weapon.

"Hey, sweetheart—"

"Blaise, stop—"

He knocked again.

"Sweetheart, I'm in room eleven. Feel free to drop by _any time_ tonight, yeah? I'll show you how it's actually meant to be done."

"Blaise, what the fuck!" snarled Malfoy while I tried not to retch at a volume that gave me away.

"Oh, relax — I wouldn't say it if I thought you were actually capable of having someone in there," he said with a laugh.

Moments later, one door creaked shut and another swung open to reveal an extremely irked Draco Malfoy.

"I'm really sorry about that; I think your brother's becoming obsessed with… wait, why's the bathtub covered in shaving— why are _you_ covered in—"

"I'm not going," I said weakly.

"What?" he asked. He must have thought I was having some sort of stroke, because he took the bottle of shaving foam wordlessly out of my hands and crouched down to my level with a concerned frown.

"I'm not going anywhere," I repeated, with more determination now, as if my father could hear my protests all the way from Wales.

Malfoy pushed a strand of hair out of my face, still frowning.

"I wasn't kicking you out of my room, I was just telling you that you didn't have to sit by the toilet any—"

"He can't make me transfer schools. I'll be of age next month. He can't make me do anything anymore."

"Oh, that's what this is about," said Malfoy, looking relieved. He extended a hand towards me and I reluctantly took it, letting him pull me up off the dingy floor.

I followed him out to the room.

"Well, don't you have anything to say?" I asked.

"About what?"

"About me having to transfer schools _halfway across the world_. Which I'm not doing, by the way," I added, with my hands placed firmly on my hips and a definite edge in my tone.

"We'll see what happens, I guess," said Malfoy noncommittally.

"We'll _see what happens?_ " I demanded, shutting off the television. "It's not going to happen!"

"Alright," he said with a shrug.

"Malfoy, you don't even sound like you care… wait… do you _want_ me to go?"

Malfoy rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Can I please just go to bed, Zabini? We always have these ruddy conversations when I'm half out of it!"

" _Do you?_ "

"It's not my place to tell you what to do with your life," he said simply.

"That isn't what I asked."

"It's like you said— you'll be of age next month, and I'm not in the business of telling adult women how to run their lives."

"Well I'm not going," I repeated for what sounded like the millionth time. "I have things here."

"What things?" he said.

_You._

"My friends."

"Ah, yes," said Malfoy sarcastically. "I'm sure they don't make mediocre orphans with head disfigurements across the pond."

"Well, there are also… you know, my classes," I explained.

_And you._

"I'm fairly certain there are classes at all the Wizarding schools," said Malfoy.

_Also, you._

"Yes, but I'm already used to all the teachers. And what about St. Mungo's? I can't leave now!"

"St. Mungo's?" Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They've offered me an interview for that summer program, and I'm not saying I'm getting a spot, but McGonagall seems to think I stand a chance at—"

I cut myself off. An expression had flown over Draco Malfoy's face that I had never ever seen aimed at my general direction; it warmed my chest and took the breath out of me all at once.

"What?" I asked weakly.

"I knew it! I knew they'd pick you. You're too fucking good not to!"

"I'm sorry, can — can you _hear_ yourself right now?" I spluttered. "'You're too good not to'. Are you possessed?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Zabini. It's hardly a compliment."

"Coming from you?"

He shrugged, his demure mannerisms returning, and I regretted immediately the way I'd cornered him.

"Well if I get the position it'll only be a waste if I leave the UK, seeing as I want to work there after graduation," I pointed out.

"I wouldn't worry about that. Everybody everywhere knows St. Mungo's. Even if you leave after you do the summer there, you'll find another hospital with ease."

I sighed. "I suppose, but… it's just..."

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Well there's also…"

He gestured impatiently for me to continue.

"Us," I said.

Malfoy stilled, looking down on me with an expression that I couldn't place.

"No. Absolutely not. Do _not_ base this around me," he said firmly.

"I'm not basing it around you, I'm basing it around us _._ "

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but closed it.

"Wait, what are you trying to say?" I asked.

Malfoy sighed and sat on the foot of the bed.

"I'm not trying to say anything. Quite the opposite, actually," he said.

"Are you saying there isn't an us?" I pressed.

"Have words come out of my mouth one way or the other?" snapped Malfoy.

"They should be! Look, if you feel some sort of way about this… this… relationship thing, then I really think it's time you speak up clearly—"

"Get in my bed, would you?"

"—because either way I'll be prying it out of— wait, what?"

"You told me to speak clearly, yeah? Well I'm telling you I want you in my bed for the night," he said, as if it were a perfectly intuitive state of affairs.

I blinked at him thrice.

"I don't really know what to do with that information," I admitted.

Malfoy snorted. "Well, I'm thinking you could do one of two things: you could leave and get into your own bed, or you can get into mine."

I looked down at my pyjamas.

"I thought you said these aren't allowed anywhere near you while you sleep."

"You're more than welcome to slip them off," he said nonchalantly.

"W-well I— I'm not wearing anything under—"

"Zabini?"

"Yes?" I said nervously.

"Keep your clothes on and get in the bed, yeah? And turn that Muggle box back on. I want to see their pathetic excuse for Quidditch in action."

 


	47. Grand Gestures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I’m back, and luckily I bring with me an update! I’d like to thank you guys for being so patient with me. I’d like to equally thank everyone who left such kind words of encouragement. Hopefully my schedule becomes a bit more regular now, even as I transition into work. 
> 
> ~ Anna =)

If I hadn't been so preoccupied with the plans my brother had revealed to Malfoy, I might have noticed sooner that Harry was once again choosing to sit beside me on the common room couches, and that there had been nearly no hostility in his voice when he reminded me that the Hufflepuff Quidditch team was due to play against us in a few weeks' time. I, however, had no room for such subtleties in my overheating brain. It was fixed on two things and two things only: avoiding anything my father might be planning, and ensuring that Malfoy followed through on his promise to confess.

"… falls under a _fascinating_ Ministry exception — isn't that right, Heidi?"

I turned to Hermione with what could only have been a blank stare.

"What?"

"We were just talking about that clinic you visited. What a fascinating idea it is to mix Muggle and magical medicine!" said Hermione eagerly.

"I dunno. Sounds like an administrative mess to me," chimed in Ron. "I mean think of all the effort that has to go in to make sure that bloke doesn't get up to any funny business with the Muggles. What if he forgets to wipe a memory?"

Hermione let out a tsk and crossed her arms. "So when it comes to the Quidditch World Cup, combining the two societies is fine, but any time anything _actually_ beneficial is occurring, you—"

"Anyway, I think I'll get to bed," I said as I got up. Listening to Ron and Hermione debate the merits of Quidditch would be as energy draining as it would be amusing, and with the addition of yet another disaster to my plate, I simply didn't have the patience for it.

"I'll be up to bed soon too," said Hermione as Ron bade me a good night.

"Night," said Harry shortly, staring straight ahead into the fireplace. I nodded at him, the implications of his cordial gesture hardly registering.

Once in the dormitory room, I pulled the hangings around my bed and stared up at the canopy. Candlelight from Parvati's side of the room flickered through the cracks while I lost myself in thought.

I knew precious little about Ilvermorny besides the fact that I had never — and, if I had my way, _would_ never — set foot there. But I suddenly found myself wondering how much my brother knew about Ilvermorny, and my father's plans to send us. Were we enrolled already? Did my mother know, and if so, would she be coming? When did I have to leave? Would I ever be back again?

It was no secret to me that Dad confided in my brother double what he did in me. If anybody could answer my questions, it would be Blaise.

A familiar ball of restlessness began to build up inside me, and I knew then that sleep would evade me until I got to the bottom of things. After another hour of tossing and turning, during which Hermione entered the room and Parvati finally blew out her candles, I found myself pushing apart the crimson hangings and throwing on the first jumper and jeans I could find in the dark.

One look at the dimly glowing clock on my bedside table told me that it was definitely too late to be out in the corridors. As for demanding entry into the Slytherin common room — well, I wouldn't know which wall to pound on even if I tried.

That was when I remembered it: the passage Hermione and I had found to the Slytherin boys' dormitories so many months ago.

Taking care not to be noticed by any of the snoozing bodies surrounding me, I pushed back the curtains in front of the passageway door and ducked in. I walked the dark length of the space without hesitation, having fully accepted the consequences of my idea before I even touched the door handle that opened to the Slytherin side. I understood the fact that I might catch a glimpse of Crabbe's mass of body parts in a disturbing state of undress, or that Goyle might have some sort of bizarre bedtime ritual nobody wanted to see, or that Malfoy might decide that 'bedroom stalker' was where he drew the line in his romantic commitments. My need to learn my fate outweighed all of these potential disasters.

When I cracked open the door, however, the dormitory was entirely deserted. Cautiously, I pulled back the green hangings around what I knew to be my brother's bed only to find it crisply made and otherwise untouched. I frowned as I scanned the abandoned space. Wasn't it well past midnight?

Against all common sense, I went through the door that led to the general Slytherin quarters. I didn't make it very far before a hulking body stopped me in my tracks.

"Lost, are you?" said a boy who was built similarly to Goyle but who was, unfortunately for me, a great deal more intelligent.

"I'm just going to the common room, thanks," I said politely, whilst being entirely unsure which way the common room was.

"I don't think we ordered a Gryffindor," he responded.

"I'm not," I lied.

He said nothing, and pointed instead to my mustard yellow jumper. I looked down. The word GRYFFINDOR was stitched across it in great red letters. I cursed under my breath.

"Look, I need to talk to my brother Blaise. Have you seen him?"

"Blaise Zabini?"

"No, the other Blaise. I realize it's an _extremely common_ name," I sniped impatiently.

The Slytherin snorted.

"I believe he's in the common room celebrating with the rest of them."

"Perfect, thank you!" I said in response to the first helpful thing I'd heard in this exchange. "Common room's down these stairs, right?"

The boy snorted once more.

"You think you're going down there or something?"

I blinked. "I mean I'm clearly here to… what are you, security services or something?"

"If being a Prefect makes me security services, then yes."

I rolled my eyes.

"Look, just take the points off and go. Ten, twenty, a hundred — whatever you want. We'll earn them back by June anyway."

"Typical Gryffindor. Come into _our_ quarters and try to barrel your way in. And you don't even bother to ask nicely."

I sighed sharply. "Alright, _fine_ : Mr. Slytherin Prefect, may I—"

"Hugo," he corrected.

" _Hugo,_ may I please go down to your lovely damp and somewhat mouldy common room to speak with my idiot brother?"

He sucked the air in through his teeth as he debated this.

"You know what? You may," he concluded.

"Excellent. Thank you!" I said.

"As long as Draco allows it."

I froze, eyebrows shooting up.

"You're joking, right? Why does _Draco_ have to allow it?"

Hugo shrugged. "He makes the rules around here."

"On what basis!" I snapped.

"On the basis that his father could buy just about—"

"His father's a fugitive and a felon," I interjected. "In case that part wasn't exactly clear for you."

The Slytherin shrugged. "Aren't they all."

I shook my head and set off down the stairs. As I made my way down, the sounds of laughter and conversation grew louder and louder. I jumped slightly as a bang filled the air, only to realize that somebody had set off green and silver firecrackers.

"Oi, Draco!" called a voice from behind me as a large hand clasped much too tightly around my elbow. The Slytherin prefect had apparently followed me down the stairs. "Caught her lurking by the stairs, claiming she's here to see her brother. I think she wants to snitch on the party."

Various heads turned, and whoever wasn't glassy-eyed from whatever alcoholic substances were getting the better of them looked at me in confusion. Draco, who had been occupying one of the green leather couches with his chin perched lazily in his hand, exchanged an expression of boredom for one of surprise as his eyes went to me. He got up from the couch and strode towards us.

"I'm not here for your stupid party," I sniffed at the Prefect in an attempt to preserve some dignity. "And you'd better let go of me before I start jabbing my other elbow into areas of your body that—"

"Yeah, don't grab her like that," said Malfoy sternly. Hugo released his grip, looking confused.

"I thought I was supposed to hold them until you say whether it's alright for—"

"Never mind what I said. Here," snapped Malfoy as he shoved a few coins into Hugo's hand. "Go back to what you were doing."

Once satisfied that his lackey was back to behaving, Malfoy's eyes travelled to me. They halted visibly on the massive lettering of my jumper.

"Zabini, is this a grand gesture?" he asked with a broad smirk. "Toilets are to your left if you'd prefer to do it in there."

"It's much less of a grand gesture and more of a massive miscalculation. What's going on in here, anyway?" I asked.

I looked past his shoulder to take the scene in. It looked nearly identical to the mess I'd stumbled into on New Year's Eve — although to their credit, there seemed to be fewer attempts to commit arson by the partygoers.

"This is what's called a Friday night, Zabini," drawled Malfoy. He sighed dramatically. "And here I was, thinking that you came because you couldn't resist the thought of me."

"Oh, shut up. I'm here to talk to Blaise," I said, fighting back embarrassment as I checked to see if anybody was paying attention to our exchange. Many people, having likely recognized my relation to Blaise, had lost interest in the otherwise strange idea of a Gryffindor currently occupying their common room. I intended on keeping it this way, which made the fact that Malfoy was leaning over me so closely that I could feel his breath rather troubling.

"Really, Zabini, what can I do for you?" he asked with an entirely unsubtle wink that would have caused Tracey Davis, who was currently standing to our right, to do a double take had she been looking.

"I already told you, _you_ can't do anything for me," I hissed. "Is Blaise around?"

"Why?" asked Malfoy suspiciously.

"What do you mean why? Because I'm asking!"

"I can't tell you where he is until you tell me why you're asking," he said, looking rather unbothered. "It's the rules, Zabini. I'm sure you understand."

"I _clearly_ don't have to abide by your weird, snakey pseudo-rules. Seriously, Malfoy, where's my brother? I need to speak with—"

"Oh _now_ the party can start!" came a singsong voice from beside me. I turned to see Pansy looking even more glamorous than usual. "You're brother's nicking refreshments from the kitchens with Nott. He should be back soon."

"Thank you," I said. "At least somebody here is helpful."

"Don't you have something to say to me?" Pansy asked crossly.

I gave her a confused once-over.

"Er … nice dress?"

"I think you want to round that out with a 'Happy Birthday', actually," she said.

"Oh!" I exclaimed as it all sunk in. " _That's_ the cause of all this ruckus! That explains it. Malfoy here would have me believing that you people just live this way."

"Oh, we do," she said with a sly smile. "But today is extra special."

"Well I'm sorry for barging in, then. I'll head back to—"

"You're leaving?" asked Pansy, with an unmistakeable edge of offence in her voice. "You can't leave, it's just about to get good! See look, here comes Astoria with the cake."

Pansy bounded away from us to help set down a massive baby pink birthday cake that was teetering precariously on a platter. I turned back to Malfoy.

"I guess I'll see you Mon—"

"C'mon, let's get out of here," he muttered, taking hold of my hand.

I stiffened in his grasp.

"What do you mean? Like leave … together? Won't people notice?"

He loosened his grip and I slipped my hand from his, looking around all the while to check for onlookers.

"We can stay if you want. Just figured you'd prefer to be out of the noise," explained Malfoy.

"I—I was thinking I'd just go back to bed since Blaise isn't around," I admitted.

"I'll walk you to your common room, then."

"It's too late to be out in the corridors. Filch is always around now that both our common rooms are in the dungeons."

Malfoy glanced down at his timepiece and confirmed this with a sigh.

"Guess we're staying."

"Well, I actually came through another—"

But at this moment, a deafening chorus of 'Happy Birthday' burst through the Slytherin common room with Pansy smiling broadly at the centre, taking it all in.

"Aren't the First-years trying to sleep?" I asked through the noise.

"Noise-cancelling charm," replied Malfoy offhandedly as he joined in on the applause that erupted at the end of the song. A set of what looked to be Third-year boys were doing so with twice the enthusiasm. I recognized one of them as the Slytherin kid who once asked me to punch him in the face.

"They really like her, huh?" I said as Pansy did a little bow for the set of thirteen-year-old boys that had congregated around her.

"Just wait until she starts singing," remarked Malfoy with a half-grin.

"She sings?" I exclaimed **.**

"Every year. I usually try to be long gone by then if I'm honest."

"Why _are_ you out here, by the way? I thought you'd hide in your room during something so social — at least with the way you've been this year."

"She doesn't take kindly to us missing her birthday, let's just say that," Malfoy explained with a touch of resentment.

"She's the opposite of me, then," I said with a grin, "seeing as I usually don't take very kindly to any of you showing up."

Malfoy snorted and pointed to a table with an assortment of bottles and cups. "Should I get you a drink now that you're here?"

Just then, my brother appeared through the doorway with Nott in tow, both of them levitating a mass of food and beverages.

"You know, if you don't stop hovering near me quite so cheerfully, people are going to decide we're on good terms," I pointed out. "I think that also extends to getting me drinks."

Malfoy's mouth twitched into a frown. I immediately regretted the way I had phrased things.

"Fine. Get your own drink, then. Or don't," he said coldly.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way, I just mean that you want to be a little more subtle if you don't want everybody—"

But Malfoy had quickly gone back to sulking on the green leather couch next to Goyle, leaving me alone in the corner. I sighed and strode towards my brother, who did a double take.

"Heidi? What are you doing in here?"

"I was looking for you," I said.

"Why, what's wrong?" he asked in a panic. "Is it Mum? Did you get an owl or something?"

"No, it's … you know, it can wait until morning. I was stupid to come in. I didn't realize there was a party going on."

Blaise's shoulders relaxed. "How'd you even get in here? I didn't think you knew where the entrance was."

"I've come here before with Pansy. I know how to get in," I said simply, hoping he wouldn't press the issue.

"Nice jumper, Zabini," snorted Nott as he appeared beside us. "Here for the festivities, are you? Does Pansy know you've snuck in?"

"She does," said Pansy happily from behind me as she reached to grab a bottle from him. "Thanks, Theo, darling."

"I really shouldn't be out so late," I said to Pansy as I watched Nott and Blaise drift over to talk to a familiar-looking seventh year. "McGonagall doesn't take as kindly to this sort of thing as Snape does."

"Good thing she won't think to look for you in here," Pansy said. "I'm guessing you don't take Firewhisky?"

"Not if I can avoid it."

"You must be the most boring person I associate with," she sniffed, shoving a bottle of butterbeer in my hand. Her eyes travelled to the couch. "You and Draco."

"Me and Draco what?" I said sharply.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "You and Draco are the most boring people I associate with."

"Oh."

"What did you think I was going to say?" she asked with a frown.

"N-nothing."

She continued to eye me suspiciously, and I was wholly grateful when Blaise walked back over to join us.

"Enjoying our lair?" he asked me with a grin.

"Air's a bit heavy down here," I remarked casually. "Must be all that moisture. And sinning."

"Speaking of sinning," interjected Pansy. "Why is Draco ignoring all of us? And on my birthday, no less?"

"I'm not sure that's an actual sin, Pans," said Blaise.

She pursed her lips. "Might as well be. It's bad enough that Daphne's off with some seventh year when I told her to set the night aside."

"Why do you even care? It's just a birthday," I said sourly, unable to help myself. Birthdays were a sore subject with me, particularly in present company.

"Excuse me, it is not 'just a birthday'. It is a celebration of my womanhood," said Pansy shrilly. "And if Draco cared even a little bit, he'd be celebrating with us properly."

Trying very hard not to make any crass comments about Malfoy's past and rather abundant celebrations of her womanhood, I took a sip of butterbeer and hoped the subject would be dropped entirely.

"Should I call him over?" said Blaise.

I shook my head. "Definitely not when he's like this. Give him half an hour and he'll be over it."

"I was… asking Pansy," he responded, looking confused.

"Oh. Right."

"What are you, an expert on his behaviour now?" joked Blaise.

"Yes, well … that's what happens when you spend hours on end together, isn't it?" I said.

"You spend hours on end with Malfoy?" my brother asked suspiciously.

"God, I am so sick of this question. We do _schoolwork_ together, Blaise."

"Well I don't care what mood he's in, he's not spending all night sulking on the couch. I've barely gotten to see him lately as it is," said Pansy, and, without awaiting further input, she set off towards the leather couch. When she returned, Malfoy was in tow.

"Feeling alright, there?" asked Blaise.

"Never better," Malfoy replied dryly, his gaze momentarily landing on me.

I acknowledged him with a tiny nod into which I tried to cram the fact that I was sorry, and that wanting to be secretive had nothing to do with how deeply I cared for him, and that I'd talk to him properly tomorrow to sort it all out.

He responded with a snort, leading me to suspect that tiny nods are really only capable of relaying one thing at a time.

"So are you people going to dance or what?" asked Pansy.

"I'd rather fall in a cauldron of acid," I said plainly.

She rolled her eyes and moved on to her next target. "Draco?"

"Not tonight, Pans."

"Blaise?"

"Few more Firewhiskys and I might consider it," he said.

"I'll hold you to it," warned Pansy. She sighed melodramatically. "Gosh, this year is so disappointing. I'd rather be in Bordeaux."

"What's in Bordeaux?" I asked curiously.

"Mum's boyfriend has a vineyard there, complete with the most beautiful château I've ever been in. Now _that_ would have been a party."

"Well this one's not so bad, is it?" I said, looking around. It felt like the later it was getting, the more energy everybody was somehow acquiring — something that I, judging by the yawn building in my throat, would never understand.

"Let's just say I find the attendance to be lacking and the enthusiasm more so," she said, giving Malfoy a pointed stare. He sighed.

"I already gave you your birthday present, Pans. What more do you need?"

"Handing me a bag of galleons isn't a present, Draco, it's a bloody donation."

"You gave her a bag of money for her birthday?" asked Blaise.

"Not a card or anything," confirmed Pansy. "Just pulled up a sac of coins and mumbled something that I _think_ was 'Happy Birthday'."

"Do we really have to discuss this here?" Malfoy said impatiently, an unmistakeable dull pink hue rising up his neck even in the dim light.

"Malfoy, you can't just give people bags of money when you're too lazy to put in effort!" I chimed in.

His grey eyes snapped to mine with a sharpness I seldom saw lately. He was definitely pissed off about something.

"Well you see, _Zabini_ , I found myself otherwise occupied these past few weeks with somebody rather loud and demanding, and by the time I realized Pansy's birthday was coming up, the day had already hit."

Pansy let out an offended scoff.

"You're basically admitting to the fact that you forgot to get your best friend a birthday gift because you were too busy snogging some girl all month," she said. "How kind!"

"Yeah, mate, what's wrong with you?" said Blaise with a mixture of disgust and confusion. "It's her fucking birthday. No one wants to hear that on their birthday."

"Well he never actually said he was snogging anybody, did he?" I pointed out, raising what I considered to be an extremely salient point.

"What?" the two asked me in unison, with Malfoy raising a silent eyebrow.

"He never said he was snogging anybody. You all just assumed—"

"Oh, I daresay I know him a touch more intimately than you, Zabini," interrupted Pansy with a dismissive wave, sparking a shadow of jealousy in me.

Scowling slightly at being undermined, I went back to my butterbeer.

"If it's worth anything, Pans, I really am sorry for forgetting. I know I shouldn't have done that," said Malfoy with a humble nod.

I stared at him. Had the earth cracked in half? Had the universe _completely_ caved in on itself?

Pansy sighed and gave him a deep hug.

"Consider it forgotten. I suppose I'm no better, giving you a bottle of the same cologne every time I can't think of what else to get you," she said, before turning to me. "Zabini, would you like an age-appropriate drink yet, or are you still milking that butterbeer for all it's worth?"

"I'm good, thanks," I said demurely, before turning to Malfoy. "I wasn't aware you knew how to apologize without being held at wand-point. When'd you learn that trick?"

The scene had opened a sore in me that I never realized I had. I'd never really lent much proper thought to the 'intimate' ways in which Draco knew Pansy — aside from the obvious — but I realized then that they must have been numerous. An admission of wrongdoing that would have taken me years to pry out of him had taken her an effortless few moments; whatever weeks of progress we had shared suddenly felt dwarfed by their years of history together.

"So how are you doing with that boyfriend of yours?" asked Pansy with a smirk, cutting through my thoughts. "Did he improve his technique?"

"W-what?"

"You know, with the…" she paused to make a slurping motion. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy stiffen.

"I have literally _no idea_ what that is supposed to represent," I said, determined to look anywhere but at Malfoy and my brother.

"Sure you do. We were talking about it the other day — how you wished he'd use less tongue when you kissed."

I gawked at her.

"Are you joking? Is this some sort of bizarre Slytherin joke that I'm unaware of?"

"I was just wondering if my advice worked. I thought that's what friends talked about," she said innocently. "I'm sorry if I said something I shouldn't have."

"What advice?" I demanded.

"You know, the thing I told you after you kept coming to me asking how to get him to stop."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Malfoy listening intently, an indiscernible expression on his face.

"Parkinson, you know damn well that we have never spoken about this," I snapped, my blood beginning to boil.

"Sure we have. You came to me with those love bites on your neck and told me how you 'liked him as a person', but that you were really sick of kissing him because he kept doing it wrong," she said with a doe-eyed expression that I presumed was meant to convey great innocence.

"Do I seriously have to keep listening to how you and that Ravenclaw kid feel each other up?" asked Blaise with an expression of revulsion on his face.

"No, Blaise. You don't." I slammed my bottle down on a nearby table, fully prepared to leave.

"Hang on, Zabini," said Malfoy, holding up a hand before I could take more than a few steps. "Come back. I'm interested now."

"In what? In a conversation that never happened?" I sputtered.

"Bad kisser, is he, that boyfriend of yours?" continued Malfoy, ignoring my explanations. "Not up to your standards?"

I stared at him, unable to speak from the frustration.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed over, Heidi," cooed Pansy with a sly smile. "So you don't like the way your boyfriend kisses. So what?"

I wheeled on her.

"I have no idea what you're trying to do, Parkinson, but you better fucking stop." I shook my head in disbelief. "You know, I thought I was growing to like you, but it turns out you're still nothing but a massive, conniving bitch."

I had fully expected to have her palm collide with my face. What I had not expected, however, was to have Malfoy grab a hold of me and bring his lips resolutely onto mine. It was only when his tongue ghosted over my bottom lip that I was thrown back into reality again. I jerked away from him, heart pounding.

"What are you—"

"Has it improved, then?" he asked casually, as if we were anywhere but in a room filled with staring Slytherins.

"What?" I asked in a half-squeak.

"My technique."

I swallowed roughly, still rooted to the spot.

"Draco, w-what are you—" I whispered, my voice hoarse and shaking.

"You know, why don't I step away so that you can have a little chat about it. Pans, you'll let me know what she concludes, won't you?"

But Pansy was staring at him with her mouth visibly agape, champagne flute forgotten halfway to her lips. I was certain that her expression of unbridled shock was the absolute height of any possible reaction to the events that had just unfolded. That is, until I looked at my brother.

 


	48. Implicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I come to you with the update you’ve probably all been waiting for, judging by the yelling I’ve received for my cliffhanger lmao. I anticipate even more yelling this week, so it’s cool ;) Big shoutout to my friend Meghan for reading through this and giving me her input, and an equally big shoutout to everybody who reviewed, left a kudos and even just took the time to read! I love you all dearly.
> 
> ~ Anna =)

"What is this?" asked Blaise as he looked wildly between us. When neither of us responded, he cracked an uncertain smile. "Is this a joke or something? Are you two taking the piss or something?" Slowly, I watched my brother's smile turn into a frown, as if somebody was pulling at his lips with invisible strings. "Tell me what this is right now," he repeated, and I couldn't help but notice just how lethal his tone had become.

Pansy set her champagne flute down silently and edged towards my brother, who was beginning to look pale.

"Tell me. What. This is!"

I bowed my head in shame and stepped forward.

"Blaise, I… I know he's your best friend…"

Blaise swallowed hard as he stared down at me. I had never felt so guilty. Suddenly, his eyes flew over my shoulder to Malfoy, who was standing silently behind me with his arms crossed and an expression of indifference on his face.

"That's my sister, Malfoy," he said in a grave voice.

Malfoy gave an apathetic shrug, prompting my brother to take a step towards him.

"Did you fucking hear me? I said that's my goddamn sister!" Blaise roared. "YOU ARE LAYING HANDS ON MY—"

"I'd prefer to call it kissing my girlfriend, but whatever works for you," said Draco.

I stiffened at the world 'girlfriend'. So he'd decided to commit after all.

A sea of murmurs erupted from the onlookers at the declaration — a declaration which had apparently crossed over all the thresholds that were keeping my brother from committing murder.

"Theo!" shrieked Pansy as Blaise yanked out his wand and pointed it straight at Draco. "Oh, where the hell is my— Blaise, please don't — THEO, GET OVER HERE!"

Nott rushed over and grabbed hold of my brother.

"None of this shit, you two. Not tonight," he said, restraining Blaise from behind as Malfoy took out his own wand. Veins were jutting out of my brother's neck in a way I had never seen before.

"I told you, Malfoy, didn't I?" my brother warned. "I sat you down man to man and told you, didn't I? AND NOW—"

"Blaise, please calm down," I said.

"Shut up, Heidi, this doesn't concern—"

Malfoy stepped forward with a frown. "Don't talk to her like—"

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, MALFOY! YOU BETTER JUST SHUT THE—"

Through the crippling haze of anxiety and the pounding in my ears, I became vaguely aware that Pansy had gotten up on a table and was now using her wand as a megaphone.

"Alright, everybody, get out! Get to your dormitories!" she said to the onlookers. "None of this concerns you!"

"But the party only just—"

"Bed! Now! Don't make me call Snape down here," Pansy threatened. Slowly, the somewhat shaken up partygoers began to file towards two sets of doors, most muttering between each other as they did so.

Pansy hopped down off the table and looked trepidatiously between Theo and Blaise, Draco and I, and the very small amount of space that was keeping us apart.

"You sat him down?" I asked, having found my voice at last. "What do you mean you sat him down 'man to man'?"

Blaise held up a hand in front of my face, eyes glued to Malfoy.

"I'll get to _you_ when I'm done kicking the absolute shit out of—"

"Draco, what does he mean?" I asked calmly, pushing my brother's hand away with ease.

"He told me you were off limits," replied Malfoy.

I frowned. "What do you mean 'off limits'?"

"How long has this been going on?" snarled Blaise, ignoring my question.

"Not long enough for my liking," Malfoy said. "Should have started all this sooner. It's partially my fault, of course. Couldn't see past the years of arbitrary bullshit."

Blaise flexed his jaw and took a step forward. Nott quickly followed suit, eyes fixed nervously on my brother.

"Mate, don't start a fight," Nott pleaded quietly. "Remember last time, when your sister ended up in the hospital wing? You don't want your parents to kill you, do you?"

Blaise ignored him.

"Is it some sort of defect that you have, Malfoy? Some sort of hole in your brain that makes you the way that you are?"

"And which way is that?" asked Malfoy, eyebrow quirked.

"You consistently ignore all social norms, all codes of existence, all _common, basic decency,_ " spat Blaise, counting each of Malfoy's perceived flaws aggressively on his fingers.

Malfoy snorted. "I wasn't aware that striking up a relationship with your sister went against 'all codes of existence'. In fact you know what, Blaise? I think you'd better step back and calm down. You're making everybody uncomfortable."

"You spoiled, petulant _fuck,_ " my brother snarled. "You just can't take 'no' for an answer, can you?"

Having had enough of the veiled, unproductive back and forth, I finally found my voice.

"I never gave him 'no' for an answer, Blaise," I said.

My brother looked at me as if he'd only just remembered I was there.

"Yeah?" he said dangerously. "Well you're about to."

" _Excuse me?_ " I demanded.

"Whatever this is, it ends now," he said, gesturing between us.

I took an outraged step towards him.

"Why, because you said so?"

"Whatever 'feelings' you think he has for you aren't real," Blaise hissed.

I couldn't help but chortle.

"You're an expert on feelings now, are you? Having been in precisely _zero_ proper relationships, you're here to tell me my romantic fate, are you?"

"Yes."

"Well tell me this, Blaise: if you're such an expert on romance, why are you still alone?"

He looked momentarily put off by the question.

"This has nothing to do with—"

"Yes it does. If you're just _so_ talented at reading the room and predicting everybody's fate, then tell me: what is it you've done about your own romantic predicament?"

"What romantic predicament?"

I laughed, feeling triumphant.

"Oh, so you _don't_ know about her feelings for you? Forgive me. I thought you knew everything about everybody's feelings," I said.

"What are you talking about? There's no one who has feelings for—"

Without missing a beat, I pointed directly to Pansy, whose eyes widened in horror.

"This one's been cornering me in practically every corridor and classroom, pining over your stupid arse, moping about how you just won't notice her, _sobbing_ because she's convinced you think she's easy. What did you say to make her think that, huh? What did you say, oh great Master of Seduction?"

Blaise looked almost as stunned as Pansy did betrayed. He cast her a bewildered look, and for a moment, I thought I saw her twitch as if in preparation to bolt away. I gave her a subtle shake of the head.

_Stay put, Parkinson. Own it._

"Is that true? What Heidi's saying?" asked Blaise. But Pansy wasn't looking at him. She was looking at me.

 _Own it. End it after if you have to; cut it right off at the source if that's what you want. But_ _own_ _it first._

Pansy swallowed hard. "Yes."

Blaise looked down at the floor for an awkward moment, and I felt a lurch of sympathy mingle with my fury for her **.**

"Okay… we'll er … talk about it in private," my brother said. "It's not about that right now. It's about my sister and my best mate going BEHIND MY BACK AND _—_ "

"You are _so_ selfish, Blaise. You've always been so goddamn selfish," I said, as my eyes began to well with frustrated tears. Why couldn't he understand, just this once?

"Selfish? _Selfish?_ This is the least selfish—"

"I know that he's part of your 'group'. I know that it's all _very_ exclusive, with your parties, and your gifts, and your pointless, judgement filled conversations. You've always kept me out. Merlin forbid Heidi comes along and says something sensible and ruins the fun! I don't care; I'm not taking it from you anymore."

Blaise bent down until he was eye-level with me and crossed his arms, eliciting images of my father.

"You're right. It is exclusive. It's exclusive and you're not welcome, so get back to your common room where you belong."

"You don't get to tell me where I belong!" I said hotly.

"I don't need to tell you a damn thing, because you already know. You know you're meant to be in _your_ common room, with _your_ friends, plotting your next good deed."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look around! Look! You're slumming it!" He pointed to Malfoy and Nott. "Two sons of high-ranking Death Eaters." His finger flew to Pansy. "A _Parkinson_ , for Merlin's sake — no offence, Pansy, but you know where you stand." He pointed to himself. "A Zabini. You and I might not be his first choice, but we're still on his list. I'm no Harry Potter. I can't put you on the good side of this war." He grabbed my shoulders and an involuntary gasp left my lips. "You are the _only one_ out of all of us who stands a fucking chance, and I will be six feet below ground before I let this slimy, traitorous _piece of shit_ bring you down with him. Now get the hell out of here and back to your common room," he snarled.

I clenched my teeth hard to keep from crying. I somehow felt like I was five years old again, receiving the scolding of all scoldings. Maybe his words held weight. Maybe they didn't. I didn't care. My face was on fire from shame and anger and alcohol, however little I'd had. I wheeled towards the exit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blaise hold out an arm in front of Draco. "If you follow her, I will consider this brotherhood over."

"You're not my brother," said Draco calmly, sidestepping the obstacle.

"Lucky you!" I snapped over my shoulder as I hauled open the door. "And for the record: your parties suck!"

The door reopened quicker than it could vanish, with Malfoy emerging after me.

"Your common room's the other way," he said plainly.

"I'm not going to my common room."

"Then where?"

"Does it matter?" I said impatiently as I continued walking. Truth be told, I hadn't formulated a plan yet.

"I'd like to know how much trouble my girlfriend is putting herself in, yes."

At this, I couldn't help but pivot on my heel to face him.

"You keep calling me that. Why?" I demanded.

"Because that's what you are," he replied.

"Since when?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I dunno, since … since it felt right."

"But it doesn't feel right, Draco. It doesn't."

Malfoy's eyebrows crept up. "Oh?"

I exhaled sharply, hands buried stubbornly in my pockets. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"No, we really should talk about it now."

"I'm not staying out here and landing myself in detention. This night's been awful enough, thanks."

"We'll go to the Room, then," he offered.

"So I'm allowed in now, am I?"

Malfoy sighed sharply. "You've always been allowed in, it's just…"

"You should have consulted with me! You should have asked before grabbing me in front of everybody! You only did it because you were in a sour mood and wanted to prove a point."

"That isn't true."

I shot him a pointed look. He sighed.

"Alright, so Pansy got to me a little. But it doesn't matter. I'm tired of hiding it, and I made a decision to—"

" _Your_ decision is supposed to be _our_ decision. I wasn't ready to—"

"You don't exactly come asking me twice when you've got your mind set on something. It's not like you went to me and said 'hey, do you mind if I go to your cousin to discuss and potentially expose the most critical thing in your life right now'," he snapped.

"That is entirely different, Malfoy! I didn't implicate you, for starters! I kept it anonymous!"

But he had seemingly heard all he needed to hear. He drew away from me.

"So that's what you think of this. I'm 'implicating' you."

"I didn't mean it like—"

"Well I, for one, am thrilled you think so highly of what we're doing here. So highly that you don't want to be implicated. You know, all this time you were lamenting about how you'd shout it to the world, and that the only obstacle was my unwillingness to have people know. Well it's not an obstacle anymore, Zabini. I'm willing to have everybody know. Seems like the obstacle is coming from your side."

"Draco, I…"

He rolled his eyes and turned to leave. I grabbed him by the wrist, not realizing how close my grip had been to the mar underneath his sleeve. Alarmed by his sharp inhale, I loosened it and he wrenched out of my grasp entirely.

"Just go to bed, Zabini. I'm not going to keep _implicating_ you in—"

"I'm… it's just I'm… really scared," I found myself explaining. "I've never really been without my friends. Even you've still got all yours, git that you've been," I said with sad laugh. "Well, maybe not Blaise. But mine… well it's only just started getting better again. And tomorrow I'll wake up, and they'll know. They won't take it well. I know Harry won't."

Draco looked down at me, clearly contemplating this.

"What would you have me do about it?" he said.

I scoffed, insulted. "You know, for somebody so quick to apologize to an ex-girlfriend over a stupid gift, you're really awful at being sorry for a legitimate—"

Malfoy held a hand up, shaking his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant it sincerely, Zabini. What should I do?"

I swallowed.

"Oh. Well I…I know you hate to be nice, but… perhaps you could be there for me when it happens?"

Malfoy brought a hand to his forehead.

"Christ, Zabini, do you have _any_ standards for me? I'll obviously 'be there for you' _._ I meant what actions can I take to mitigate the damage you're expecting?"

"Erm … well, perhaps you could be there … _with_ … me."

Draco sighed. "I'm not sure you want me near your friends when this goes down, Zabini."

"You don't have to talk," I assured him. "I could do all the talking. But if you see them pulling a Blaise— well it was just sort of comforting to have you there tonight, even though you weren't saying anything. Do you know what I mean?"

At this, Malfoy let out an incredulous laugh. "Do I know what you mean? Yeah, I reckon I know what you mean. Don't think I'd have begged you for sleepovers if I didn't know exactly what you meant."

"And yet Blaise doesn't seem to think your feelings for me are legitimate," I said, figuring now was as good a time as any to bring this up.

"Yes, I've been rather negligent in my promise to run my love poems for you by him first. Don't think he quite has the full picture."

I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Just to be clear: if you ever write me a love poem, I am going straight to the roof and throwing myself off. I've spent years listening to the filth that comes out of your mouth when you see a girl you fancy. I don't need that memorialized in iambic pentameter."

He grinned back, perfectly white teeth gleaming under the torchlight, and I found myself drawn right back to him. Wasn't I furious at him a mere few minutes ago? How could I already be thinking about kissing him?

"Zabini, I can assure you that you haven't heard even half of the filth that echoes through my head when I see you," he muttered, taking the closing gap between us as an invitation to snake his arms around my waist and pull me closer. He leaned down, mouth brushing against mine. "Maybe some time soon."

I looked down, feeling self-conscious, and let his lips press against my forehead instead. My brother's plea to have me on the good side of this war drifted through my mind, along with echoes of his warning that Draco Malfoy would inevitably bring me down with him. Down, down, down…

That feeling was back in my stomach — the one that kept me up at night. The one that sparked when he did things like kiss me with just that extra bit of heat, or grip my waist as tightly as he was now. The one that crept down.

"I should get to bed," I muttered, pulling away from him. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

He nodded.

"I imagine it'll all happen at breakfast; that's when news tends to travel, at least. I—I know you prefer to have yours outside of the Great Hall, but—"

"I'll be there at seven, Zabini," he assured me.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

I peeled my eyes open the next morning to the sound of shuffling. Hermione had risen from her bed and was buttoning a pale yellow blouse.

"Morning, Heidi," she said jovially.

I glanced over at Parvati and Lavender, who were sitting on Lavender's bed together, giggling. I stiffened, then released a breath when I heard the word 'Neville'. The truth hadn't reached them yet; it was still swirling around somewhere in the Slytherin quarters.

I got up and grabbed a change of clothing, having to make a stop at the showers.

"Should I save you a seat at the table?" Hermione asked as Lavender and Parvati left the room.

"Hermione, wait…" I said, before she had a chance to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Could we go down together?"

Her brows twitched in concern.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just a bad feeling."

Hermione sat down at the foot of her bed, nodding skeptically when I assured her it would only take me a moment to get ready for the day. Staying good on my promise, I returned mere minutes later.

"Let's go," I said, holding the door open for her.

We ran into Neville and Seamus on the way out, and I eyed them cautiously for any sign of agitation.

"Happy Saturday, ladies!" hooted Seamus on his way out of the portrait hole. Neville stepped behind him with a smile and held it open for us.

"Happy Saturday," I replied. I let out a relieved exhale. So far so good. "D'you have the time, Hermione?"

"Five past seven," she said with a glance at a hot pink watch.

"Are those hearts on your watch hands?" I asked incredulously.

She reddened. "Er… yes, Ron bought it for me. It's not exactly my style but… well, he spent so much on it."

"The things we put up with for love," I said dryly, mentally noting that we were approaching the Great Hall. That was when I caught the first sign of trouble.

Daphne Greengrass wheeled the corner and stopped short in front of Hermione and I, just as we were steps away from the door. Shooting me a look so dark it morphed her model-esque features into something worthy of a nightmare, she opened and closed her mouth with a clack. Wordlessly, she stormed away.

"What on earth?" Hermione asked, hauling open the heavy door. Faces from every table looked up as we came through.

I scanned the Slytherin table and felt my stomach plunge. His seat was empty. He wasn't there.

A glimpse of orange out of the corner of my eye brought my attention to the Gryffindors, amongst whom Ron and Harry would usually be sitting by now. But Ron and Harry weren't sitting at all — they were leaning against the edge of the table, waiting for something. Ron was the first to see us, and with a nudge from him, Harry followed suit.

I knew it instantly, the moment I caught sight of their sickened expressions. They had been waiting for me.


End file.
